The Window in the Door
by buttercups3
Summary: This story fills in the Season 5 finale from Sweets' p.o.v., beginning with the scene when Daisy informs him she's leaving. I plan for it to continue into the year they are apart and when they reunite.
1. Chapter 1

_Note: I really don't have time to be starting this story, but I should be able to write more frequently again in a week or so. I'm dying to respond to the Season 5 finale! I plan to start after Daisy tells Lance she's leaving for Indonesia and to go into the year they are apart and conclude sometime after she returns. While I've always been a big supporter of Swaisy, I have to say, her behavior in the finale displeased me greatly! My true sympathies will always be with Sweets. *pinches his cheek*_

_Spoilers are for Bones Season 5 up through the finale. _

**The Window in the Door**

Lance watched the attractive figure of his petite girlfriend recede through the doorway of his office and tried to determine what the hell had just happened. Somehow in the course of one thirty-minute conversation, Daisy had upended all of his dreams and plans for the future…not just the near future, but the rest of his life. She was going to Indonesia for a _year_. She had sort of invited him to come but without any realistic plans. Leave my job, my friends, to what…elope and become a pearl diver?

Lance laughed out loud bitterly. It was clear—she didn't care if he came with her or not. She had told him bluntly that her first priority was her job. Now he wished she had never said yes to his marriage proposal, because she obviously did not love him like he loved her. Saying yes and then pulling this was just cruel. He thought of his parents' long marriage—they had never been apart for more than a few days. Such was the intensity of their feelings for one another.

For the past weeks, Lance had been imagining his and Daisy's future home together, their dogs, their children. He craved children. He knew he was young in his career to have kids, but part of him desperately wanted to experience fatherhood. He wanted to prove that he was like his adopted father and not his biological father. Curious about the outcome of his genetic combination with Daisy's, he wanted at least one or two biological kids and then to adopt one or two more. He had mentioned this to Daisy, who had balked. She didn't want children anytime soon since she was serious about her career, and she certainly did not want more than two. Nor was she very interested in the fiasco of adoption. She had told Lance that if he could find a way to bear the children himself, then he was welcome to have them.

Lance sighed. At the end of his conversation with Daisy this evening, she had given him back his mother's ring. He was gripping it tightly in his right hand—so tightly, in fact, that the diamond setting was boring into his skin uncomfortably. He released his hand and put it on the table in front of him. The ring left deep, painful marks on his palm.

Lance thought to himself, 'Mom, I really need you right now. I don't think I can bear this.' This struck him as silly—talking to the piece of his mom that remained in his heart—but then he addressed himself. 'Am I strong enough to get through this?' Lance did not know how to answer this question.

He had withstood torture at the hands of his biological father. He had survived jeering, bullying, and taunts from fellow humans his whole life. He had stoically endured the twin deaths of his two most beloved people on earth, his parents. But Daisy, she was supposed to be the person he could count on, and she had betrayed him. He had given her his whole heart, become entirely vulnerable, and now he would pay the price of his naïve openness to love. Maybe Dr. Brennan was right—it was simply not worth the pain. He felt like his entire body was cracking along a fault line.

Lance wept silently, his shoulders heaving.

* * *

Nearly two hours later, Lance was standing outside his apartment door. The problem was Daisy was in there. Since they had gotten engaged, Daisy had moved into his apartment temporarily until they could get a place together. After their earlier conversation, she had gone back to the Jeffersonian to finish up her work for the day, but she was most certainly home by now. Lance had stalled, trying to will away the redness in his eyes, an obvious sign that he had been crying. For some reason he did not want Daisy to know that she was breaking his heart.

The part of Lance that was curious about human behavior asked himself, why? And the part of Lance that _was_ himself answered, because was it just me, or did Daisy not seem torn up at all to be leaving me?

Lance felt a sudden surge of nausea as he turned the key to his apartment.

"Lancelot?" came a way voice from inside. For the first time in his relationship with Daisy, this nickname infuriated him.

He threw his keys down on the table, as she timidly approached him. He put his hands up to block her from hugging him, since he knew this would break him down.

"Daisy, I need some time to myself," he said, not looking at her.

She nodded, and he couldn't help but notice that shallow beneath her veneer of concern for him was ecstatic excitement for her own good fortune.

Lance pushed by her, grabbed his gray cat Knox who was slinking toward him, and went to his room, shutting the door. He began stripping off his suit violently. Knox pawed boredly at each piece of clothing Lance threw on the bed. Now in his boxers, Lance flicked on his iPod and shoved it into his ears, lying face down on the bed. Knox curled up on his owner's scarred back and purred—a sound Lance couldn't hear but rather felt. The familiar fury of Death Metal blasted his ear drums and reached that place deep in his soul that needed empathy. Probably only a very small proportion of the world could discern the words that were being screamed in Lance's ear, but he knew this song like he knew his name. The voice raged,

_Deep in the blackness of my hollow mind_

_Your soul has slunk and swallows what it finds._

_Desperate pain eclipses all the love_

_As you shred my heart, you smile: smug._

Damn—he was crying again.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for the reviews, Ellie, RT, and Erica! They keep me wanting to write! *hugs*_

_Ellie, I totally ship Sweets more than Booth/Brennan. I love BB, but mostly insofar as they act parental towards Sweets. Every episode I'm like, yawn, where's the SWEETS! So returning that high five! :) Erica, Daisy was kind of a bee-otch in that epi. I was confused…And RT, definitely great minds, or so we like to think! ;)_

_

* * *

_

Lance abruptly stopped crying and sat up (sending Knox flying with an angry cat wail). He was annoyed at himself, acting so childish. He sat up and thought, I have one week left with Daisy before she leaves. How do I want to spend it? That was a good question. On one hand, his heart was already working overtime to create distance from Daisy—a coping mechanism. On the other, he couldn't help the fact that at this moment, he still loved her as much as one person could love another.

Daisy knocked on the door to his bedroom.

"Baby?" she called softly.

Lance opened the door and looked down at his girlfriend. She had her hair tied back in a characteristic ponytail and was donning yellow cotton pajama pants and a white tank top. He sat down on the bed, and she sat next to him.

"You've been crying?" she asked, a question which annoyed him immediately. He looked away. Daisy frequently made remarks about Lance's propensity toward emotional responses. He had cried many more times in her presence than vice versa. Daisy prided herself on rationality, which she modeled in the image of her mentor, Dr. Brennan. Oddly, however, Daisy was quite emotional—she just tended toward excessive excitement and nervous energy rather than melancholy.

"Daisy, you just told me that instead of marrying me, you're flying to the opposite side of the world for a year. Forgive me if I'm a little…upset." Lance's tone was sarcastic, his eyes sad and flashing with irritation.

"But we should make the best of the time we have left, shouldn't we, Lancelot? We shouldn't spend it moping." Ugh, _that_ word. Daisy often accused Lance of 'moping in his room.' She reached out to stroke his arm affectionately and nibbled on his shoulder.

"I'm not in the mood, Dais," Lance warned.

"Lance, for the year we've been together you've never _not_ been in the mood. Come on, I'll make you feel better." She ran her finger down his chest, and he brushed her hand away.

For some reason, her comment recalled to Lance's mind her critique from earlier in the evening that he was 'not exactly Mr. Adventure.' He became angry all over again. Sure he had his habits, he liked to schedule things in advance, and he didn't particularly appreciate surprises. But that didn't make him unadventurous. He had lived in Philadelphia, Toronto, New York, and even London. He was cultured. Further, he felt that he and Daisy had enjoyed a rather titillating sex life in the time they'd shared together.

Huffily, he asked, "Daisy, what makes you think I'm not adventurous?"

Daisy rolled her eyes a little at his redirection of the topic from sex to his flaws. "Oh you know, you have the same thing for breakfast everyday. You go to the same diner every day. You see the same people, read the same newspaper, talk about the same set of topics. Everything in your life is scheduled. You hate when I spring things on you, like dinner last week with my friends from out of town—"

"Because I'm busy Daisy," he interrupted. "I have a demanding job and need to plan ahead. I work hard to fit in everything that I care about. I try to make you a priority. I'm sorry if I'm not as exuberantly spontaneous as you are, but you know, I try to keep things interesting. I bring you flowers, I try out new things in the bedroom. What do you want from me?"

"Well you're not very…" Daisy trailed off. Lance mentally inserted the word: manly. "I dunno. You're a kind of a city dweller. I don't really expect you to thrive in the tropics—it's too untamed for you." She dropped her eyes, as his mouth fell open in silent protest. "Lance, I just want the freedom to live my life and develop the best career I can. Like you. You've had many academic successes, and I'm not yet in the position where I can forgo important opportunities. I'm just asking for the same chance you had."

"You're right," he responded. "I understand."

And he really did understand. It's just that deep down he wished that he was more appealing than her career. Apparently, he just wasn't man enough to keep his fiancée interested.

He went to bed with the nagging thought that he was not a risk taker like Booth. Booth epitomized the manly man. Lance had had enough danger and pain thrown at him in his life that he did not seek out trouble. That was the truth. He thought back to how earlier that day at the hoarder's apartment he had been startled by a mere garter snake. Hodgins must not think him very masculine or adventurous either.

* * *

Lance and Hodgins were standing in the hoarder's apartment once again, and Lance had just offered "Mr. Adventure's" services in helping Hodgins retrieve his father-in-law's car. Lance was on edge. Booth had informed him that he'd be "better off" without Daisy, and he was still processing this fact that his friends did not approve of his girlfriend to the extent that they viewed the couple's imminent separation as a good thing. Had he been a fool to love Daisy? Had his friends just been humoring him this whole time, praying that his relationship would fail?

Hodgins interrupted his thoughts, "What bee's in your bonnet, Sidekick?"

Lance grumbled, "Oh, just that Daisy informed me I'm not adventurous enough to accompany her to Indonesia."

"Ouch, man. Hence 'Mr. Adventure,' I assume."

"Hodgins, do you think I'm bland and boring?"

"I think your hand is currently residing in a pile of rat droppings," Hodgins deadpanned. He wasn't joking Lance realized, gazing down.

"Aw, man!" Lance complained, violently removing his hand. He wiped it on a grimy old cardboard box. Then he looked back at Hodgins, demanding a real answer.

Hodgins sighed. "Look man, I don't want to knock your girlfriend, but I find you far more intriguing than her."

Lance still looked dissatisfied.

"Sweets, you're a young guy. If you're worried that you haven't lived life to the fullest, then rent a convertible and take a road trip or something."

"So I _am_ boring?"

Hodgins sighed again. He clearly did not want to be pestered with this conversation anymore. "Is it or is it not your job to be someone that people can rely upon to be stable and comforting, Sweets?"

"I suppose it is."

"Then I think you do your job well. You don't need to be spontaneous and outlandish to be interesting. We're not all going to be Angela. Now can we get back to work?"

"Yeah. Just let me know when you want to get the car. I'll be there."

"All right, Sweets. I appreciate it. Like I said, I need all the help I can get."


	3. Chapter 3

_Ok, my move is finally here, so at the end of today, no internet for a whole week! *sob* (Don't worry, I'll come back with a flourish.) I'll miss you Sweets lovers! :( Thanks again for those reviewing and reading. You are lovely!_

_

* * *

_

It was early morning—as the alarm clock informed Lance, precisely 5:23—and he extracted himself from the covers without waking the slumbering Daisy. It had been a big night and Lance had been up late, yet here he was wide awake to greet the dawn. First, Lance had agreed to help Hodgins steal back his father-in-law's car, and the two had been accosted by dogs and angry bikers. Then Hodgins had driven off, leaving Lance to make his own hasty escape. Everything had turned out fine in the end. Lance had taken a cab, though the driver eyed him warily, considering Lance was wearing his patented "Mr. Adventure" stocking cap. But no worry, he had made it home in time to explain the story to Daisy, who rewarded him handsomely. As Daisy loved to point out, she had excellent control over her gag reflex. Lance appreciated that.

He sought pants in the darkness and found his flannels. He padded out to the front room, looking for something specific. From his oak book shelf he removed a shoebox. But this was no ordinary shoebox. It was THE box—the one filled with family photographs that he had not been able to bring himself to look at since his parents' deaths. He had simply carried it from their house and placed it on this shelf where it sat resolutely for two years. What compelled him to look in it now, he wasn't quite sure.

Lance was beginning to feel a bit less melancholy over the loss of Daisy. As his heart attempted to disentangle itself from her, it ventured back to the world of comfort and love his parents had built for him over 16 years, and he longed to feel their presence. He knew that part of the reason he was feeling better was also because of Hodgins. Hodgins had proven to Lance that he considered the psychologist a friend and accepted Lance exactly how he was. Lance had been there for Hodgins when things had been dismal in his life, after losing Angela and Zack, and Hodgins had returned the favor by including Lance yesterday when he needed a friend to lean on. Something about Hodgins' regard for him almost felt more authentic than Daisy's intense love of the past year. Lance felt that long after Daisy was gone, there would be Hodgins. There would also be Angela, Cam, Dr. Brennan, and Booth. With a pang, Lance realized that there was a good chance neither Booth nor Brennan would be around for a year. But he sensed they would return. They wouldn't abandon him forever.

Lance sat cross-legged on the floor of his apartment and opened the box. Knox came over to rub against him, and Lance softly said, "Hey, kitty. These are my parents." The first picture was of his mother and him seated at the piano. He was nine years old. They were playing a Shubert duet and laughing. Lance traced the outline of his mother's face and smiled lovingly. She was always so beautiful, even when she became elderly and was gripped by the unforgiving vice of chemotherapy.

The picture reminded Lance of an incident when he had been practicing a particularly difficult Bach prelude at age nine. He became infuriated with the fingering in a passage and threw the music down on the floor with a dramatic flourish. His mother had stooped down, picked up the music and said, "Bach made this beautiful piece for you to cherish. It's ok to be frustrated, but express it in your music. Play harder, play with passion. You'll do him and yourself far more justice."

He thought about Daisy, and his recent anger toward her. What would his mother say to him if she were here? He looked over at his childhood piano, which now sat adjacent to the bookshelf in his apartment. It was a beautiful baby grand Mason & Hamlin built in 1913. It had been alive more than 4 times as long as him. He made a promise to play that prelude later on in the day. His hands were large now and that fingering was no longer a source of frustration.

Next in the box, he found a picture of his father and mother holding hands in their back yard in front of their old sycamore. He had taken the picture shortly before going off to college, so he could remind himself of home. Home had always been people and not places for Lance. Knox was now in Lance's lap and he pet the cat with a far off look in his eyes.

That was enough for now. He would finish the pictures later. Lance looked up at the ceiling and thought, Booth's right. I should move on from Daisy. She was enchanting, loveable, intelligent, and sexy, but she wasn't really home. He had tried to fashion her into something secure, but she was not family after all. Still, there would be inevitable grieving, and even in this moment, his chest physically pained him. There was also something else. Lance had a growing desire to make a change in his own life. He needed a new way to express his passion; to shine.

* * *

It was time. Everyone had gathered at the airport.

For the past day Lance had been helping Daisy gather up her belongings. They had confined her papers, her books, her extraneous clothes to boxes and bid them farewell in a storage facility. Daisy was not sentimental in the least about objects. She was the opposite of a hoarder. She shed her possessions and moved on to sunnier skies.

Lance was not feeling quite as strong as he had hoped. He had been shaking this morning and had barely slept. Daisy rolled over to comfort him in bed, and they had made love for the last time. Lance couldn't help but think that their relationship had begun with spontaneous sex on the first date and was ending with it. Sex had always been the glue of their passion, and recently it had proven that it was not enough. He had once told Angela to forgo sex for stronger connections, and somehow he had been deceived by sex in his own most important relationship. But, he thought glumly, I invested my whole heart in this relationship; it was Daisy who hadn't. She wasn't shallow, she just hadn't loved him enough.

Lance wondered if he would ever be loved like Hodgins loved Angela or Booth loved Dr. Brennan. He wanted it so badly, he wondered if it made him a little desperate to seek love where he shouldn't. It didn't matter now. He was alone again.

Daisy was standing before him, asking if he hated her. He said no and meant it, kissing and hugging her one last time. When she asked if he'd wait for her, he told her no. It was the right decision, but it hurt and Lance hoped he would be able to resist the memory of her. In some ways, he wished he would never see her again.

Then Daisy was signaling for Dr. Brennan to hurry up, but Dr. Brennan was going the wrong way. Lance saw Booth emerge from the crowd in his fatigues. He looked impossibly beefy in uniform. Lance felt a few tears leap into his eyes when he saw them hold hands. Please let them figure this out while they are apart, he begged the universe. He wanted them to be happy now more than ever. Everything was so messed up so suddenly. He felt like his heart was going to explode. Inexplicably, Dr. Brennan's and Booth's happiness was all wrapped up in his own. He probably loved them as much as he loved any living humans.

He turned to Daisy, "Be safe. I hope you achieve your dreams, Daisy. I'm glad to have shared a year with you."

Finally, he saw tears in Daisy's eyes. So it _was_ hard for her. She nodded, and gathering up Dr. Brennan, they departed. Lance almost wished he hadn't seen Daisy cry. It was going to be even harder to let her go now.

Lance felt a hand on his right shoulder and then another on his left. It was Angela and Hodgins. They weren't leaving for Paris for a few days, and he was grateful. They walked out of the airport, their arms around him, Cam next to them. No one said anything.

* * *

_When I return from my travels, we shall move on to the exciting summer I have planned for Baby Duck! He's headed toward sadness but also happier times. :) The Jeffersonian will be getting some new staff, and Lance will be presented with new job opportunities. Cam's motherly friendship will be key to helping him, since his usual surrogate parents are away._


	4. Chapter 4

_Hello all! Thanks again to those reading this story—I'm sorry I don't have the time to respond to your reviews yet, but I will! I've been away and will continue to be until June 9 when my internet gets installed in my new house (gasp!), but I'm still working on chapters and concepts and am excited to come back with a flurry of updates. I have written so many chapters in my head as I paint. I also can't wait to catch up with my favorite stories and begin to review again. I'm sorry I don't have time to read anything at the moment. :( In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this morsel!_

_I always forget disclaimers: none of these characters are mine—it's all in good fun! I just adore Sweets, nothing more, nothing less._

_

* * *

_

Most people didn't know that Lance suffered from a disease that had almost claimed his life several times. Daisy vaguely knew. His parents had known firsthand, since they had almost watched him die. But they were gone, and now Daisy was gone—at least from Lance's life. The disease was depression.

Four weeks after the love of his life had departed for Indonesia, Lance was having a hard time getting out of bed. On this particular morning, his eyes were very heavy, as if he hadn't slept at all. He couldn't open them and had little desire to try. His body felt light and airy and urged him to drift back into blissful unconsciousness.

Lance was dreaming of being cool. A breeze was floating gently through the languid palm trees jutting out of white sands. It was strange to be so cool and yet in a tropical location. The brilliant blue ocean lapped against its pale terminus, and Lance realized that he was being accompanied by none other than the renowned Dr. Temperance Brennan.

"Hello, Bones," he said, surprised at his own familiarity with her nickname and yet not surprised. "When are you coming back to the Jeffersonian?" he asked the ethereal anthropologist.

Brennan was wearing an emerald sarong decorated with a sprawling white pattern of concentric circles.

"Never, Sweets. I'm going to stay in Indonesia. I'm afraid I can't solve murders anymore." She seemed resolute.

"Can't or won't?" he pried.

"Can't," she said mysteriously. Then, as if his subconscious wanted to explain more, she added, "I'm pregnant," as if this explained everything. Lance looked down to see her belly swollen with child. His subconscious responded with a burst of jealousy. He wished Daisy were pregnant. Maybe she would have stayed in the U.S., and he would have been part of a real family again. Weren't women supposed to be the ones with a ticking biological time bomb? He wanted to be a father so badly.

Sudden fear gripped the incorporeal Lance. He said, "I need help. Something is wrong with me!" His eyes were wild as he showed his wrists to Dr. Brennan. They had opened up at unnatural seams, and blood flowed freely from starkly blue veins.

Dr. Brennan nodded in grim agreement. "Something is wrong with you," she said simply and began to walk away.

Lance jolted awake. Damn, he had fallen back asleep. He needed to force himself to pull off the covers and put both feet on the floor. _That's it, you can do it_, he told himself encouragingly. He couldn't help but glance at his wrist where two dim scars reminded him that his dream was born in a past reality. Not to mention a present one—he missed Dr. Brennan terribly. Even more so he missed Daisy.

Lance was choking on his own tight throat, and tears leaked out of his tired eyes. He knew that the day was not going to be easy. _I could just go back to bed and never get up again and no one would notice. Not for weeks, maybe months. No one knows I am even alive._ Lance wanted to chastise his thoughts and tell himself, _that is depression talking. You can beat this._ But he believed it—with Booth, Brennan, Angela, Hodgins, and especially Daisy gone—he believed it.

He glanced at his cat and thought, well Knox would care. A cat's got to eat. There was his reason to get up today. _I suppose people have gotten out of bed for worse_, he contemplated morosely. Knox purred encouragingly.

* * *

At work, Lance was very startled to hear a knock on his door and the creak of someone entering. The FBI had been cold and lonely lately with no Booth around. He had seen his usual patients but had been profiling less. The truth was he was bored without Booth. He was feeling less and less stimulated by FBI work, and was beginning to realize that the people at the Jeffersonian were the main draw to his job.

He looked away from his computer to see Cam entering his office. Her entrance brought a smile to his weary face.

"Dr. Saroyan," he said with as close to exuberance as a depressed person could muster.

"Dr. Sweets," she greeted, genuinely pleased to see him. In fact, it had been several weeks since they had corresponded over email about a case. This was the first they had seen of each other since they had parted with Dr. Brennan and Daisy at the airport.

"So, how are you?" Lance asked moving to sit across from her and folding his hands in his lap.

"Oh, it's kind of lonely over at the Jeffersonian. I've been breaking in some new staff. I have a new computer programmer extraordinaire: Bea. Beatrice Vu. I think you'd like her. She's kind of alternative…"

"Alternative to what?" Lance was picturing someone who was half man half woman with bug antenna.

"You know, a nose ring, tattoos, likes loud music. She's of your generation."

Lance smiled at this appraisal. He knew Cam perceived him as very young. He also wondered if Cam was trying to set him up.

Cam continued, "I haven't found anyone to fill Dr. Brennan's shoes—not that that's possible—but I've been using Wendell, Fischer, Arastoo, and Mr. Nigel-Murray as much as possible. Agent Perotta has been filling in for Booth." She sighed deeply. "It's a zoo. I need a vacation. Of course, everyone is gone, so…"

"No vacation for the weary boss," Lance finished. "That must be hard on you," he added frowning, going into shrink mode.

"I make do. Actually, we could really use your help on a complex case we're working. Do you think you could stop by some time in the morning tomorrow?"

"Of course. I really miss working with you," Lance said quickly. Desperately. Gazing at Cam he realized how much he did miss her. He felt like he had been reunited with a sibling after a summer apart.

Cam remained sitting and looked tired.

"It's great to see you again, Cam." Lance startled himself by using her first name. He blushed a little.

Cam just smiled and looked pleased that he seemed more comfortable with her.

"There's actually something else I'd like to ask for your help on."

"Yes?" Lance asked, eager to correct his perceived mistake—always the people pleaser.

"It's Michelle. She asked if you wouldn't mind if she dropped by this afternoon. She said she really needs someone to talk to. I know this is...irregular. I mean, you work for the FBI. But, I think something is really bothering her. I suspect it may be her father's death. She's never really dealt with it…"

Lance held up his hand to calm Cam's discomfort. "I would be happy to talk to her. It's no problem. Of course, if she needs help getting over her father's death then I will recommend that she see someone long term."

Cam looked infinitely relieved. "Of course, I'll pay you for your time."

"No! No. I couldn't accept money. It's a personal favor and a professional courtesy. I'm always here for you and your family."

"Dr. Sweets—if something is really wrong, will you tell me?"

"I'll make sure you know what to do to help, but I have to abide by patient confidentiality." Lance moved closer. "It'll be alright, Dr. Saroyan. I'll make sure Michelle finds the help she needs."

"Thank you. It means a lot. Um, Dr. Sweets, don't take this the wrong way, but are you alright? You look…very thin. A little ill, actually."

Lance shifted uncomfortably. He knew he needed someone to check on him, since he didn't even wholly trust himself with his illness. He decided to let Cam in a little, though he was very wary of delving into his deeper problems with anyone from his current incarnation.

"I…uh, I really miss Daisy," he said miserably. "I'm not handling things so well."

Cam looked concerned for her young coworker and said, "Of course you miss her, Dr. Sweets. But, can I say something? I think you could do better. Daisy always wanted to talk about herself, but you, you want to help other people find their ways in the world. I don't think she appreciated the fact that you are a rare person with very specific gifts."

"We were engaged," Lance informed Cam, who registered shock at the revelation. Lance hadn't told anyone that he had asked Daisy to be his wife. He was not even sure why he had been hiding it so long. "Daisy wanted me to quit my practice here, follow her to Indonesia, and become a pearl diver."

Cam smiled. "See? She barely gave your happiness any thought. Don't take this the wrong way, but you are much more…normal than she is. And you know what else? I got tired of all the Daisy/Sweets sex tapes that made their way to my office from the security guards. Especially since I will all too soon have to endure Angela/Hodgins sex tapes again. Those were always so…graphic."

Lance blushed and muttered something apologetic.

"Don't try to explain. Coworkers shouldn't date, Dr. Sweets. Might I suggest a dating service?"

They parted on an awkward but friendly note.


	5. Chapter 5

_I can't believe I got another one in! I've been hopping on internet for a moment at my parent's hotel! Still no time to read-I miss The Heart of the Family! :( -but like I said, I have been writing away five minutes at a time! Hope you enjoy! This story is going many places and will even take an exciting plot twist in the next couple of chapters. This one is set up for what's to come. More heartache for Baby Duck is one the way before happier times. Miss you all!_

_Disclaimer: NOT MINE._

_

* * *

_Lance didn't know exactly why he was doing this, but at lunchtime he was on his way to former Doctor, now Chef, Gordon Gordon Wyatt's restaurant. It was only when he walked through the door that he realized he had not gone there to eat.

"Excuse me, is Dr. Wyatt back there?" Lance asked the hostess pleasantly. She was bored and sullen, but informed him that she would see if he was busy.

"Who should I tell him you are?" she asked eyeballing him like he was a half-price fish at the farmer's market.

"Uh, Lance Sweets."

In a moment the hostess returned with news that Gordon would meet Lance at the bar. Lance took a seat and ordered a sparkling water with lime. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Well, if it isn't the illustrious Dr. Sweets," Gordon said jovially, pumping Lance's hand. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Lance fumbled for a reason, and Gordon immediately picked up on the fact that Lance wasn't there for the new Chef Gordon, but rather the old Dr. Wyatt.

Wyatt interrupted, "I hear all of your compadres have flown the coup, so to speak. How are you doing with all of that?"

"Oh fine. Look, I don't want to waste your time. I'm not really sure why I came here today," Lance said honestly.

"I think I know," Gordon said, raising an eyebrow. "But first, let me provide you with a glass of the most fabulous Sauvignon Blanc this side of the Atlantic." Gordon ordered the wine for Lance over his protests, but once Lance had tasted its grassy freshness, his mood improved slightly.

Lance turned back to Gordon. "I'm a professional psychologist. A successful academic. Of all people, why don't I know how to handle myself?" His tone was dead and flat.

"Sometimes oneself is the biggest enigma of all, Dr. Sweets," Gordon answered sadly. "I'm not a practicing psychiatrist anymore, but that doesn't mean I can't lend an ear for a friend. How about we have coffee at the Royal Diner every Tuesday for a little while, say 8:30 am."

Lance wanted to protest—that sounded like therapy—but he needed someone to trust with what he was feeling. He was definitely losing control. He felt like weeping into his wine right here in Gordon's restaurant.

"Don't look so defeated, Dr. Sweets. You're not like you used to be."

_What?_ Lance thought a little panicked. Why did it always seem he could read Lance's mind?

"After all, you came to me, didn't you?" Gordon smiled, patted Lance on the back. The two men said their goodbyes.

Now it was time for Lance to attend to someone other than himself who needed help: Michelle. He headed back to his office for his afternoon rendezvous with the most important person in Cam's life.

On the way back to his office Lance checked his phone messages and found one extremely intriguing. The message was from his former advisor—Jeanne La Fleur—at Columbia University. Georgetown University, here in DC, apparently had an opening for assistant professor in the psychology department, and Jeanne had a personal connection to the department chair. The department had inquired after Lance and wondered if he sought an academic teaching position. Jeanne was very excited for Lance to take the interview.

She had babbled in her French accent, "I know you are happy at the FBI, but consider how much you could make a difference teaching les étudients!" She had the habit of inserting French into her English, which Lance adored. In fact, they frequently spoke French together, as it was one of Lance's several languages.

He barely had any time to consider the offer at the moment, but he had to admit, he was tempted. He wondered if he would feel this way if Booth were still around. He did think to himself, _Perhaps I could teach at Georgetown and do contract work for the Jeffersonian. I could scrap the FBI as a middleman. Note to self, ask Cam if that would be a possibility._

Lance swung around the corner and nearly charged Michelle.

"Oh hello, Michelle, sorry. I was lost in thought. C'mon in." He opened the door to his office and followed an amused Michelle in. She always seemed tickled by Lance.

"Have a seat. So, Cam mentioned you had something you wanted to discuss? Just so you know, nothing you say to me leaves the room." He smiled encouragingly at the teenager, who was regarding him with a penetrating but friendly stare.

"Thanks, Dr. Sweets. I appreciate you seeing me. I told Cam it was about Dad's passing, and while I am still sad about that, I actually wanted to ask you about something else."

"Anything," Lance said slightly taken aback.

"Well. This is going to sound crazy, but I'm…thinking about having sex with my boyfriend."

Lance stuck out his bottom lip. _Not what I was expecting._ He tried not to smile. Sometimes he loved teenagers. For them everything was new and interesting, and in a way, Lance had never really shaken this impression of the world himself. He was naturally curious and enthusiastic, despite the fact that life had burned him many times.

"Ok, why did you come to me? Is your boyfriend pressuring you?" Lance inquired.

"No! No, not at all. I…I just don't want my friends to know and you know, get their judge on. I certainly can't talk about it with Cam—she will freak! And she wants me to discuss sex with my gynecologist, I'm mean, come on!"

Lance did laugh now, because Cam was extremely endearing as a new mom of a 16 year old. "Ok, ok." _Cam would kill me if she knew what we are talking about_, he thought. "What did you want to ask me about, Michelle?"

"Well, the truth is I already had sex with my boyfriend a few days ago." She cringed. Lance coughed. Man, sometimes being a psychologist was awkward. "What I wanted to ask was, is there something wrong with me? I've waited for sex all this time—almost 17 years—and I…I don't like it!"

"You don't like it." Lance parroted, confused at the direction this was taking.

"Frankly, it sucked! It was awful. It hurt and it was awkward as all get out!"

Lance couldn't help but laugh again. He hoped he wasn't being unprofessional. But he supposed this is what happens when you become too involved in your coworkers' lives. You get to spend the afternoon explaining to their teenage daughters that virginal sex is not all that.

"Michelle, I assure you, your first time was completely within the norm."

"Really?"

"Really. Nearly everyone's first time sucks. For women it tends to hurt like hell and for men…well its just plain embarrassing."

"Was it like that for you?" Michelle asked.

Lance contemplated how to best answer, his mouth set in a half smile. "Yes, it was terrible. And I must have been terrible, because she never called me back!"

He made light of what was actually a rather horrible memory. The first woman he had had sex with—his first love, in fact—had seen his scars and been repelled. He had tried to contact her for weeks after, and she had completely shut him out. But this hadn't been his first sexual experience. He looked at Michelle. He certainly was not going to tell Michelle that unlike her, his first encounter with sex had not been consensual at all.

Michelle smiled then frowned. "I dunno, I'm kind of regretting my decision. But I can't take it back. Now my boyfriend talks about sex all the time, and how much he wants to do it again. I'm not sure I ever want to again."

Lance turned to her seriously, "Michelle, you are a responsible, self assured, precocious person. I think after some reflection, you'll know whether or not you are ready to pursue a healthy, _safe_" Michelle rolled her eyes, which Lance ignored, "sexual relationship with your boyfriend. Whatever you choose, he will have to respect, or you will kick him to the curb. Your body, your choice."

"Thanks, Dr. Sweets. If I am ready, will it get better?"

Lance perhaps over-enthusiastically nodded and said, "Oh yes. It gets…amazing. But like many things in life, it takes practice."

Michelle stood up, and shook Lance's hand, thanking him again. As she was leaving she turned back and said, "I think I am ready."

Lance responded, "Well then, I think you should consider telling Cam. Negotiating a sexual relationship can be tricky, as you're already learning. I think she could help. She wants to help."

"I know. Thanks." Michelle left.

Lance sighed and sank down into his chair. The topic of sex made him think of Daisy, and how much he missed curling up next to her at night. Things had felt so right when they were together. But the door on their life together had closed. He wanted lie down on the couch in his office and go to sleep, but instead he called Professor La Fleur. It was now time to consider the window that had opened in his professional life. He would take the interview.


	6. Chapter 6

_Only seven more days till my internet gets installed! :( Many thanks to those reading and reviewing! *hugs* RT, I kind of adore how in sync our stories on this topic are! Our Lances are spiritually linked through the internet ether.  
_

_Disclaimer: Still don't own the loveable characters of Bones…sad but true.  
_

_

* * *

_The next day, Lance went to the Jeffersonian to see if he could help Cam on the case she had mentioned. It was early in the morning, perhaps 8:30. As he entered the building it felt eerily lonely without the familiar faces of his friends. He was passing by Angela's old office when he noticed that it was not unoccupied.

A small, attractive but strong looking Asian woman wearing stylish black plastic frames was craning her neck toward a computer. Oddly she was clutching a young baby on her lap, who had wild tufts of blackish-brown hair sticking out all over her head and long luxurious eyelashes. Lance knocked out of curiosity. Perhaps this was…who had Cam said the new programmer was?

"Hello?"

"Hey, just a sec." The woman typed her computer keys in a mad frenzy, which set her glasses slightly askew, and then turned to regard her visitor. The child cried, "Bahhh!" with glee at the sight of Lance.

Lance crossed the room and shook the woman's hand, saying, "I'm Dr. Lance Sweets—a profiler and psychologist with the FBI. I work with the Jeffersonian sometimes."

"Oh yeah. Cam mentioned you'd be dropping by. I actually have some info on the new case for you—but," she interrupted herself, "not to be all business. Sorry, I'm Dr. Beatrice Vu. Bea is fine. I'm a little harried this morning. Babysitter didn't come. Oh this is Lulu." Lance noted that Bea's hair was very shiny black and drawn up in a messy bun above a golden sun tattoo.

"It's nice to meet you! And you, Lulu. How old is she? She's beautiful." Again when the topic of babies came up Lance felt an odd mixture of jealousy and upset at Daisy's absence.

"She's just six months. I've got to drop her off at daycare in an hour when it opens. Hey, do you think you could hold her? I've gotta pee like mad. Then we can tell Cam you are here and get you briefed on the case."

"Sure," Lance said, but she was already stuffing the child into his arms. Beatrice had richly tan skin, and Lance guessed she was of Southeast Asian descent. As Cam had mentioned, she was kind of a hipster-her glossy hair was shot through with a streak of green. She had a tiny star nose ring and a tattoo sleeve of cherry blossoms on her arm which extended its branches nearly to her elbow. _Hot_, Lance thought. He had always been a sucker for tattoos. Then he remembered he was holding a child, who was batting at his nose and giggling.

"Hey there, little one," he said to Lulu and bounced her a little. He took her over to look at some of Angela's paintings. She seemed impressed by the colors. Lance liked holding the little girl. He squeezed her to his chest and thought, _It feels good to hug someone again_. Lulu was right at home in his arms.

After a few quiet moments, Bea was back and accompanied by Cam. Cam didn't look pleased, but rather angry to see Lance.

"Bea, could you excuse us for a minute?" Cam asked.

Bea replied, "Sure, I should get this little stinker to daycare anyway. I'll be back in 30 minutes or so."

Cam nodded and when Bea had removed Lulu from Lance's grasp and departed, Cam approached the young psychologist who was shrinking under her glare.

"Did you tell Michelle it would be a good idea for her to have sex with her boyfriend!"

"Woah!" Lance threw up his hands to fend her off. "No, no. Of course not. What did she say?"

"She said that she came to talk to you, and you told her that she was mature enough to pursue a sexual relationship, and she agrees. She said that you said that I would be supportive of her decision!"

"Ok, Cam. That's not exactly how it happened. I don't feel comfortable telling you all of the details, but what I told her is that she was equipped to make her own decision. I also told her that you are a great mom, who will eventually be able to cope with her teenage daughter having sex and support her through it."

Cam fumed.

"I know this might take you time to accept, but neither you nor I could prevent Michelle from having sex, if that is what she wants to do. All we can really do is encourage her to be safe and responsible and let her know that she has people she can talk to about problems that arise."

Steam seemed to be coming from Cam's ears.

"Cam?" Lance asked hopefully. "I would never say anything to your daughter that I felt would hurt her. She's growing up. She's basically 17, soon she'll be 18. This gives you a year to help her navigate adult relationships before she embarks for college. It's going to be ok."

Cam's rage seemed to be ebbing somewhat. She sat in one of Angela's chairs and put her head in her hands. "I just…I want the best for her. What if she gets pregnant?"

Lance crossed the room and put his hand on her shoulder. "Nearly every parent of a teenager goes through what you're feeling right now. It will take time for you to digest this. Michelle is a very responsible young woman. She'll be fine."

Cam looked up at Lance and swallowed. She still appeared slightly hostile. "Ok, we have a case to attend to."

"Cam? I have a quick question. Perhaps now is not the time, since you still seem angry with me…" Lance pouted, hurt. He was easily wounded when people he cared about were upset with him.

"I'm not angry with you, Dr. Sweets—well, I am a little. I'm mostly livid with Michelle." She sighed. "What's your question?"

"If I quit working at the FBI, would you consider hiring me at the Jeffersonian as a part time profiler?"

Cam started. "What? You're leaving the FBI? You want…contract work?"

"I may have the opportunity to teach at Georgetown next year, but I wouldn't want to miss out on working at the Jeffersonian. The FBI work has been…less satisfying of late."

Cam nodded, taking in this new turn of events. "Well, what's your going rate?"

Lance smiled. "It's hefty, but I'll make sure I fit in your budget."

Cam smiled at last too. "That sounds like a possibility. We wouldn't want to lose you to academia."

"Great. I'll let you know if that is the direction I end up going."

Cam said, "Ready to look at some remains?"

"Yep. And Cam…"

"Yes?"

"Don't tell Michelle you're upset with her. It will just make matters worse. She's counting on you to be cool about this and advise her."

Cam sighed. "I know."

She led him over to a body and various pieces of catalogued evidence. One was a large chest that was covered in dirt. Lance pondered the evidence in silence for a long time, an unpleasant thought forming in his head. He had profiled this murderer before. Cam folded her arms and watched him until he was ready.

"Either the Gravedigger has a copycat or an accomplice," Lance said flatly.

"Usually I celebrate when someone from my team agrees with my hypotheses. This time, however, I'm downright alarmed that you have come to the same conclusion."

Lance ignored this and continued, "My guess? It's an accomplice given what Taffet said to Dr. Brennan after her guilty verdict. She said, 'This isn't over.' Maybe she already had someone working with her before, or maybe she trained someone during the trial. It's hard to say."

"I've been going back and forth about whether or not to contact Perotta and the FBI. I'm leaning toward _not_ for now."

"I agree," Lance said. "I'll work on this for the rest of the day and see what I come up with. Keep me informed of your progress?" Cam nodded her assent.

The two parted, and Lance made his way out of the Jeffersonian and into the street. _Maybe I should have waited for Bea to return_, he thought. _She had something to tell me about the case._ He had to admit, he also wanted to see the beautiful new addition to the Jeffersonian team again and learn more about her background. She had a Ph.D. obviously, since she had introduced herself as 'doctor,' but she couldn't be more than 27 or 28 years old. Lance was guessing given what Cam had both said and left unsaid that Bea had her degree in computer science, and that Lulu may not have a dad in the picture.

The street Lance was on was almost void of people. As he passed by an alley he heard a crack—like a stick breaking—and whipped around. Someone was pulling on his arms and he saw the flash of a tazor. Because he had heard his assailant approaching, somehow he had the upper hand and was able to twist the short man's wrist. He heard it crack and flung the tazor, attempting to run away. Something bashed his calf so hard he felt like it shattered into a million pieces. He fell headlong to the ground, trying to stay conscious despite his fear and pain. Just as something crashed into his head, he heard screams that did not belong to him.

Lance's already dark world dimmed to black.


	7. Chapter 7

_So far this story has been mainly focused on Lance's p.o.v., but in order to write this next scene I needed to get out of his head. He is sleeping right now. :) Time for Mama Cam to step in, since Mama Bones is away!_

_Disclaimer: Not mine!_

_Love and hugs to those following and especially reviewing this story. Reviews bring me utter joy and make me want to keep writing on my breaks from painting! I wish I had time for individual responses and hopefully will soon. xo_

_

* * *

_

Cam and Bea were in the waiting room of the hospital, while Lance lay unconscious down the hall. By the time they heard that Lance had been brutally attacked just around the corner of the Jeffersonian, it was a full day later. Cam worried that Lance wouldn't have anyone there when he woke up, and Bea agreed that she and Cam could take shifts waiting for this event, though Bea hardly knew the kid. He had seemed kind to her when she met him, and his gentle brown eyes had touched her for some reason. Lance Sweets seemed like he had a good soul—Bea had an intuition about people.

At this moment, Bea's and Cam's shifts had overlapped and they were catching each other up on the case. Cam was shaking her crossed leg anxiously as she chatted. She wished she hadn't been so harsh with Dr. Sweets over Michelle just before he had been hurt.

Agent Perotta appeared in the hallway and swiftly approached the two women. She looked all business as usual—short, sturdy, and determined.

"Dr. Saroyan. Dr. Vu. I've become acquainted with the fact that your current victim has a potential connection to the Gravedigger. Needless to say, the FBI is not happy you've hidden this from them. But we can discuss that later." Agent Perotta's expression was hard to read, but there was a hint of irony under the surface of professionalism.

Cam rolled her eyes.

"I'm here to talk to Dr. Sweets about his attack. His assailant was not captured, but we found a tazor at the scene of the crime. We think this Gravedigger copycat may have been targeting people working on this case. We were able to take some DNA evidence from under Dr. Sweets' fingernails, but the FBI is hesitant to release the evidence to you given your recent transgression," Perotta finished, almost smirking now.

Cam and Bea began verbally protesting, when Agent Perotta lifted her hand. "I don't really care about the FBI's protocol. I know you're the best at what you do. I'll see what I can do to get you some of the evidence."

"Thank you," Cam said quickly.

A doctor approached the three women. "I'm sorry to interrupt. I'm Dr. Chambers. Did I hear correctly that you are here for Lance Sweets? He seems to be rousing, and I wanted to ask someone who knows him a few questions," the doctor said seriously.

Cam nodded. "We're here for Dr. Sweets. Will he be ok?"

Dr. Chambers shifted uncomfortably. "He will pull through. This is one tough young man. He's had nearly every bone in his body broken at some point." The doctor grimaced.

All three women exchanged shocked glances. Cam was extremely troubled by this revelation.

"When Dr. Sweets first came to us, we were able to speak to him for a few minutes before he fell into unconsciousness. He informed us that he has no next of kin, no people we should inform of his injuries. Is this true to your knowledge?"

Cam opened her mouth, then closed it. She realized she knew very little personal information about the young Dr. Sweets. He tended to only share information about things which happened within the context of work—like his relationship with Daisy. She knew zero about his past or life outside of the Jeffersonian.

"If he said that, it must be true," she responded. Cam thought of Michelle, and how she had lost everything in the world when her father died. Cam had wanted more than anything to save the 16 year old from a life of loneliness, and she was beginning to feel such empathy for Sweets. True, he was 10 years older than Michelle, but he was the baby of the Jeffersonian, which was in effect her nest. As much as they teased Sweets about his youth, Cam wanted to protect him.

Next to Cam Bea frowned and her maternal instinct stirred as well. After all, she had a six month-old baby and her hormones were raging. There was something about Dr. Sweets' face that made a person want take care of him.

"Well, if you are the only people available who know anything about this man, then I have to ask a few questions that may be uncomfortable for you." The doctor paused, looking extremely ill at ease. "I wonder if when he wakes up, we should tie him down to prevent him from hurting himself."

Cam exclaimed, "Excuse me! I'm sure that won't be necessary. Dr. Sweets is a professional psychologist." She was at a loss for what the doctor was talking about.

"I'm sorry, but we found evidence that he has tried to harm himself before—razorblade scars on his wrists. They were faint…but we don't like to take chances. This attack was severe and could greatly distress someone who suffers from depression or another mental illness."

Cam jutted out her bottom jaw defiantly and said coldly, "We will watch him. We'll be here for him. I know this man. He may be excitable, but he's loving and centered and _sane._" The news that Sweets had tried to kill himself was sinking in with incredible slowness.

"I don't mean to insult him. I'm just concerned," Dr. Chambers assured Cam.

Cam thought, _Yeah, concerned about a lawsuit_.

The doctor continued, "He will probably be able to be released in the next few days. Does he have somewhere safe he can go and be watched for the next few weeks?"

Cam said, "He can stay with me! With all due respect, Dr. Chambers, lots of people have had difficult pasts." Cam was thinking of her own. She had never harmed herself, but she had a terrible secret that had nearly destroyed her as a young woman. "Dr. Sweets is only 25, so the scars of his youth may still be visible. But what makes you think he is in danger of hurting himself after all of his adult training?" Cam was shaking a little with upset and anger.

Perotta and Bea remained silent, as neither knew Dr. Sweets very well. Perotta had turned away in embarrassment and was facing the window. Bea was staring down the doctor in solidarity with her new boss, of whom she was very fond.

Dr. Chambers gazed sadly at Cam and Bea and responded, "The wrist scars weren't the only scars on Dr. Sweets. His back and shoulders were covered with old marks—presumably from a whip. He looks like a slave from the 19th century. That evidence in combination with the old broken bones screams severe child abuse to me. The worst I've ever seen in 15 years of working at this hospital. Professional psychological training or not, it's hard to imagine coping with that level of…emotional pain."

Cam stood up. "Dr. Sweets has no one else in the world to help him through this time except me. I'll accept the responsibility for him. Please don't bond his wrists. You said he was waking up. Can we see him?"

Dr. Chambers nodded and began to lead Cam and Bea with Perotta trailing behind towards Lance's room. As they walked, the doctor explained that Lance had a concussion, a broken jaw that had to be wired shut for 6 weeks, and a broken leg below the left knee. He was bruised and shaken, but all in all, Lance had made it out of his attack with relatively few injuries. He would recover.

* * *

Lance blinked away a dreamless sleep and opened his eyes to excruciating pain. It was blinding white wherever he was, and he couldn't move anything—his head, his legs, his hands all felt immobilized. Confusion clouded his mind as he tried to take in his surroundings. He was in a hospital. Suddenly Cam's face and someone he could not place appeared in front of his field of vision.

"Dr. Sweets? Are you with us?" asked Cam serenely.

"Mmmm…" Lance tried to speak. Somehow he couldn't move his jaws apart. He remembered who the other person peering at him was—Bea the new computer person at the Jeffersonian.

"Don't try to speak. Your jaw has been wired shut," Cam said, a concerned look on her face. Lance was shocked. His jaw?

Bea jumped in, "You were attacked. You're going to be ok. You have a broken leg, jaw, and a concussion.

_Damn_, thought Lance. _Another concussion!_ Pretty soon his IQ was going to be in the gutter. This was the third concussion he had suffered in his life. Then Lance thought about his jaw and wondered how ugly he appeared—a vain thought that almost made him laugh except his jaw was wired shut.

Suddenly Agent Perotta emerged from the shadows. Lance felt his face grow hot. He had always found Agent Perotta attractive, and he hated that she would see him this way. His leg ached deeply now that he knew it was broken, and his brain was fuzzy.

"Dr. Sweets, we need to get some information regarding the physical appearance of your assailant. I know it may be difficult to talk, but can you try to describe him for me?" Perotta asked, her blond hair pulled into a long pony tail.

Lance swallowed. His throat was incredibly dry.

Cam physically pushed Perotta aside, like an angry mother hen, and said, "Not yet, Agent Perotta." Then she whispered to the agent (though Lance could still hear), "Didn't you hear what the doctor said? Give Dr. Sweets some space."

Now Lance did attempt to speak. It was incredibly painful and very hard to form distinguishable words with the wires in place. "What…did…he…say?"

Cam actually reached over and tenderly brushed Lance's curls from his forehead, as if she were his deceased mother. A little embarrassed at the gesture Lance blushed again, but it felt good to be cared for.

"Don't worry about it, Dr. Sweets. You're going to be just fine with some rest. The doctor said you'll be able to leave in a few days and then you're coming home with me and Michelle."

Lance tried to protest, but Cam wouldn't hear of it.

"You need help. Your leg is severely broken, and it's going to be hard to eat anything. I won't take no for an answer and neither will Michelle. She's a big fan of you!" Cam added laughing. Now their disagreement over Michelle's lost virginity hardly seemed important.

Lance's eyes filled with tears at Cam's kindness, which made him even more embarrassed. He turned away.

Bea stepped forward and said, "Cam, Lulu, and I will visit you until you leave the hospital. Get some sleep. We'll see you soon."

"Agent Perotta," Lance mumbled, trying to look at the pretty agent. He continued with difficulty, "All I know is the man who attacked me was short—maybe 5'7?—and possibly with black hair. I didn't get a good look. Sorry." He winced.

"That's ok. Thanks for the information. I hope you feel better soon," Perotta said with an uncharacteristically gentle tone. She departed abruptly.

A few minutes later, Lance was able to drift off to sleep surrounded by Cam and Bea, who seemed like the most comforting people in the world right now. For now, at least, he was at peace.


	8. Chapter 8

_I slipped in one more! Gotta get them in when I can. I did discover a laundry mat down the street that seems to have internet…so maybe I can keep up somewhat this week._

_Thanks for your comments, RT! *squeeze* I kind of heart Perotta two. She is a cutie, and there will be more of her to come. ;) Thanks to everyone who's following this story and loves them some Sweets._

_

* * *

_

Over the next few days, Bea and Cam kept their promises to visit Lance in the hospital whenever they found the time. Cam mostly read to Lance from psychology journals and novels and forbade him to contemplate the case that had almost claimed his life. She insisted that there would be time enough for him to help when he was healed.

Lance was definitely becoming intrigued by Bea. She was Vietnamese and had actually fled Vietnam with her family as a baby at the tail end of the 70s. She had spent a year in a refugee camp on an island in Malaysia before coming to the United States. Her perfect English, however, betrayed no hint of this past. Her parents had given her a French name in homage to its influence in Vietnam, which she had carried through to her daughter's name. Bea was a vegan (as Lance used to be for 7 years) and somewhat of a rabid environmentalist. She was, for instance, dying to show Lance (whom she now familiarly called "Sweets") her compost worms.

Bea had a doctorate in computer science and was basically filling in for Angela at the Jeffersonian when it came to computer expertise—well, filling in and then some. While Bea didn't have a lick of artistic talent, she was basically a genius on the computer. She had written many of Angela's tricks into computer programs, which would await the artist when she returned from Paris. Bea and Angela frequently corresponded over email, and Bea told Lance that Angela and Hodgins had sent their regards for a speedy recovery. Hodgins wanted Lance to know that he had express mailed him a Parisian treat that should arrive in a day or two. Lance was pleased, as he and Hodgins had just been growing closer before Hodgins had left on his epic honeymoon.

Lulu also visited Lance via her mother's arms. Her delighted giggles and crazy hair did much to distract Lance. He was trying to hover above his depression, because he was fearful he might drown in it. Lance was disappointed to learn that Lulu did have a father in the picture, but the more he learned about this man—Perry—the more he despised him. Bea and Perry—a house contractor—weren't married, but they were currently living together. Bea didn't say much about him, but she did appear to have some bruises on her arms and neck. Lance was pretty sure Perry was harming her. He sincerely hoped Perry wasn't laying a hand on the child. Lance knew he'd have to confront Bea about this, and he felt obligated to help. Yet every time he tried to ask, Bea skillfully redirected the conversation, and Lance wasn't feeling sharp enough to refocus her.

While he worried about Bea and Lulu, he appreciated their visits. He felt like they were somehow a proxy for Daisy. He so badly wanted to call his ex-girlfriend and tell her that he needed her, but he knew that was inappropriate.

Still on his last morning in the hospital—he was due to be released that afternoon—he couldn't resist calling Daisy. He was bored and lonely. He had no idea what time it was in Indonesia and no means of finding out, so he went for it. He was almost shocked when Daisy actually answered.

"Lance?" Daisy's voice sounded very far off, but she seemed alert. "Is everything ok?"

_No, everything is not ok, Daisy. I need you._ "Um, yeah. I just missed you," Lance's voice quavered. The problem with hearing from someone you love in a difficult situation is that you are in danger of totally losing control.

"Lance, you wouldn't have called unless something was wrong. Tell me," Daisy demanded.

"I'm…hurt. I mean, I'm ok. I was attacked."

"WHAT!" Daisy's voice boomed from the far away planet from which it seemed to be beamed.

Lance launched into an explanation of what had happened, informing Daisy that he sounded strange because his jaw was wired shut. He also told her that his attack might be linked to the Gravedigger case in the hopes that she might pass the information along to Dr. Brennan. Maybe this was unprofessional, but Lance missed Dr. Brennan and wanted her insights. Daisy listened in silence.

Finally she asked, "Lance, do you need me to come home? I could take some time off. You shouldn't be alone. You don't….you don't have anyone."

Lance was touched by her offer and wanted nothing more than to accept it, but he remained strong. "No, Daisy. Thanks for offering. It means a lot. But I have Cam and…some new friends. They're here for me."

Daisy asked suspiciously, "New friends? Who?"

Lance answered, frankly a little pleased that Daisy was jealous, "Just some people at the Jeffersonian. Listen, I don't want to keep you anymore. I just…needed to hear your voice, I suppose. I'm fine, Daisy, don't worry."

"Ok, Lancelot."

"Daisy, you shouldn't call me that anymore."

"Ok, sorry. I hope you feel better soon," Daisy sounded a little sad, which broke Lance's heart all over again. He wanted so badly to be over her. But he had loved her deeply and it would take a long time to completely move on, he feared.

"Bye," said the constricted voice from the hospital.

"Bye," said the distant voice from Indonesia.

* * *

That night at Cam's home, Cam was literally tucking Lance into bed, which immensely embarrassed but also pleased him. His leg had an uncomfortable cast on it, and his head felt like a strangled melon. He wished he could wake up in 6 weeks with his jaw freed and his cast removed. But for now, he was stuck in a broken body. After gazing in a mirror he had learned that his lower face was completely black and blue. Michelle had told him he looked like a blueberry sundae—part white and part blue.

Cam put a glass of water by the guest bed in which she had propped up Lance and sat down gingerly beside him.

"Dr. Sweets?"

"Please, Dr. Saroyan, call me Lance. I'm staying in your house for heaven's sake."

"Ok, but only if you call me Cam."

"Agreed," Lance smiled.

"I have an uncomfortable question to ask you. Please forgive me, but I need to know." Cam shifted and looked right into Lance's eyes.

Lance's face fell.

"The doctor at the hospital informed me that you've tried to…hurt yourself in the past. Are you in danger of doing that again now? I want to help you, but I'm afraid to bring a problem that severe into a house with a teenager. I'm sorry…" Cam looked embarrassed and miserable.

Lance was startled and sickened at the question. He felt like Cam had just seen him naked. He gathered his courage. "I am not in danger of hurting myself. I've recovered from that. As a psychologist, I know how to help myself deal with those kinds of feelings now."

Cam's face showed visible relief.

"I'm sorry you had to find out about that," Lance said honestly. "I hate to think you couldn't trust me. I…I've had trying times at certain points in my life and perhaps a weaker personality. I had trouble coping until I got the help I needed. It's been around 10 years since I…since that happened." He hoped this was sufficient explanation.

Cam said, "I disagree."

"What. You think I'll try to hurt myself?" Lance said, feeling a little angry at the accusation. His back went rigid. He was extremely sensitive about people prying into his past traumas. He basically never talked about his dark times, except when directly confronted.

"No. I disagree that you have a weak personality. You are a very strong person. I'm sorry you've gone through…whatever it is that has hurt you." Cam couldn't bring herself to reveal what she knew about Sweets. "But I admire the person you've become."

Lance was startled by this somewhat uncharacteristically emotional outburst. He just looked at Cam.

For a moment Cam was almost tempted to share about her own past, but she just couldn't. "I'll leave you to get some rest…_Lance._" Cam laughed. "Seems unnatural, no?"

"Yes. You could try Sweets…" he suggested hopefully.

She turned out the light. "Goodnight. Just so you know, I wrote Seeley an email about your situation. He'd like to talk to you tomorrow."

Lance smiled in the dark. He really missed Booth.


	9. Chapter 9

_Today was really busy and I wrote this chapter very hastily—I hope it doesn't have a ton of errors. It's a little thin on description. I'm afraid my updates may not be so frequent for the coming days unless I find an alternative source of internet. We'll see…_

_Again, much love to those who follow and drop me notes of encouragement! You have no idea how much taking that time to respond means to me! There is much more to come._

_Disclaimer: Not mine!_

_

* * *

_

Over the next week, Lance remained indoors at Cam's home, while Cam and Michelle flitted in and out—to work, school, and errands. Both women doted on Lance—offering him tea, water, snacks. He was almost glad for the hours he spent alone reading, catching up on his writing (he was even toying with re-outlining his Booth/Brennan book), and just silently pondering the new professional direction with which he was presented. He had called the Georgetown psych department chair and set up an interview for a few weeks in the future, warning her that his jaw would still be wired. But the department was eager to get a jump on hiring. For the moment, he felt too ugly and beat up to be seen in public, and his leg was still so painful that it was difficult for him to get around even on crutches.

A few notable events had occurred during his reclusive convalescence. First, Lance had actually received a phone call from Booth, as promised, all the way from Afghanistan.

Booth's voice had sounded hearty and concerned for his friend.

"Sweets! What's this about you getting attacked! You need to be more careful. Cam said something about the Gravedigger? How's that possible? Taffet's in jail!"

"Booth, Booth. Woah, you're talking really fast. I'm ok. I just have a broken leg and jaw."

"That doesn't sound ok, Sweets."

Lance was touched by Booth's concern. "We think Taffet may have an accomplice. I dunno, I haven't really been involved with the case since…"

"Since you had the crap kicked out of you?"

"In so many words, yes. Booth, have you heard from Dr. Brennan?" Lance couldn't help but ask to satisfy his insatiable interest in the duo.

Booth paused. "We've exchanged some letters. Bones' having a great time finding her old passion." He sighed. "I'm afraid she might not want to come back."

Lance sensed Booth was revealing a deep and unsettling fear. "She'll come back, Booth. I promise. She has a lot of people here she cares about. Most of all—you."

Booth's tone changed from wistful to his own brand of slightly gruff love. "Sweets, you have to promise me you'll stay out of trouble. I'm not at the FBI to watch you, you know."

"Funny you should mention it, I'm actually thinking of moving on from the FBI."

"WHAT!" Booth practically yelled into the phone.

Lance cleaned out his ear with his finger in an attempt to recover from the tremendous boom. "Yeah. I'm thinking about going back into academia. Georgetown might offer me a position. If I take it, I'd do contract work for the Jeffersonian on the side. We would still work together."

Booth was silent.

"Booth?" Lance asked.

"Wow, everything is changing," Booth responded sadly.

"Yeah," Lance agreed. "It hasn't been the same here without you. In fact, I've discovered that besides you and Dr. Brennan, my patients aren't all that stimulating."

"You are such a voyeur of Bones and me, Sweets. It's a little disturbing. You need to find something healthier to obsess about."

Lance missed Booth so much his chest hurt. "Don't worry. I've moved on to coin collecting. It's far less insulting."

Booth laughed abruptly.

Lance followed up, "How are you doing? Are you staying safe?"

"Yeah, I'm keeping busy, but I'm fine. Sweets? Gotta go."

"Ok, thanks for checking on me."

"Anytime. Take care."

"Bye, Booth."

After their conversation had ended Lance had buried his head in his pillow and cried.

Besides his conversation with Booth, Agent Perotta had come to visit Lance. He had been sitting on the couch watching some mindless TV and elevating his leg, wearing plaid pajama pants and a white t-shirt, when she knocked. Lance was a little surprised when he had opened the door to see Perotta on a social call with flowers in hand rather than business. He, of course, had no idea what she had learned about him from the doctor at the hospital. The truth was Perotta liked Sweets, though he was a little geeky, and she wanted to make sure that he was recovering.

Perotta immediately explained, "Sorry to barge in on you. Dr. Saroyan mentioned that I could stop by and check on you." She handed Lance the small bunch of delicate white flowers. "I didn't really know what to bring you to cheer you up. These are from my flower box."

"Wow! I love flowers! You grew these in your apartment building?" Lance moved aside to let her in. Using his crutches, Lance limped painfully toward the kitchen to find a vase—no easy task, considering this was not his home. He settled on a tall smoothie glass.

"Yeah, I have a few flower boxes. I love to garden, but what can you do? City living," Perotta explained.

"I enjoy plants myself. Speaking of which…damn. I remembered to have my neighbors check on Knox, but I forgot about my plants. Well, they probably figured it out."

"Knox?" Perotta asked confused.

"My cat," Lance explained. His neighbors—Tien and Dave—were a very loveable gay couple, who were always insisting that Lance switch teams and play for the "right" side as their boy toy. At the very least, they insisted on adopting him as their oversized child. Lance knew Knox would be in good hands and that they would probably notice the plants, as Tien was quite fastidious, just as Lance was.

Perotta suggested, "Shall we sit down? You look like you should take a load off."

Lance nodded gratefully. He felt like his leg was splitting on the axis of his shin.

Perotta looked thoughtful as they sat on opposing couch and chair, so Lance asked, "Something on your mind Agent Perotta?"

She was thinking about how Lance had been so severely abused as a child that his body bore persistent physical marks. It made her sad, and also roused another emotion in her. One she couldn't quite place.

Lance folded his hands and waited patiently, going into shrink mode.

"Do you want to get a coffee sometime next week when you're feeling better?" she asked after a very long pause. She wasn't quite sure why she had asked him—but the words flooded out. She was always a blunt person who said what was on her mind. She wondered if maybe she was attracted to Sweets. She was feeling pretty lonely lately, and she had a thing for damaged men. Lance was pretty much the most damaged man she had ever met.

"Uh…um," Lance was confused. This was not what he had expected her to say. _Had she just asked him out?_ "Well sure, if you don't mind hanging out with someone who looks like this." He gestured toward his ruined face and laughed nervously.

"Good. I'll call you and set something up when you're feeling better. Just to let you know, we've made absolutely no progress on your case. The DNA evidence didn't help at all since we have nothing to compare it to, and somehow neither of the two witnesses who helped scare off your assailant and call the police got a look at your attacker's face. This guy just disappeared, melted away into thin air. At least we know he's male."

Lance tried to shift his mind from Perotta's mysterious come-on to police work. "Um, has anyone talked to Taffet? Not that I think she'd say anything."

"Yep, she just laughed at us. I'm sorry, but she's such an evil b-."

Lance nodded. "Agreed. I truly despise that woman. Ok, well I'd love to help if I can, so keep me posted."

"I'll do that." Perotta lifted an eyebrow. "Your face doesn't look so bad. In fact, it makes you look tough. Feel better, Dr. Sweets." She stood up.

"Thanks."

"Don't get up—I'll show myself out." Lance couldn't disagree since his leg throbbed angrily its assent.

At the end of the week, Lance felt ready to return home and go back to work. He was growing bored of being waited on and creating mundane tasks for himself. He missed his cat. He also missed seeing people at work, in particular Bea. He hoped she was ok. Abusive relationships were like ticking time bombs, and he wanted to help her escape before it was too late. Furthermore, his depression seemed to be somewhat abating—he had many new thoughts and possibilities to occupy his brain.

The first thing Lance did when he got back to his apartment was retrieve his feline friend from his neighbors.

Tien answered the door and his mouth opened in shock. He was a small Asian man with fine features and a gentle voice. "Boy, you look like hell. How are you feeling? Come in. Come in. Do you need some green tea? Some booze?" Tien gave Lance a little peck on the swollen cheek. Lance rarely saw his neighbors, but when he did they acted like they had known him his whole life. They were just those kind of generous souls.

"No thanks, Tien. Just wanted to grab Knox. Thanks for watching him."

"He's like a tiger in a domestic cat's body. His personality is bigger than Cher's. We adore him!"

"Yeah, he's a typical cat. Huffy, standoffish, but very lovable when he gets in the mood," Lance offered.

"Oh you poor thing; listen to you with your mouth wired shut! If you need anything, just holler through the wall and we'll come running."

Lance smiled, which made Tien grimace. Lance imagined his smile looked very strange with his teeth bound shut.

Knox came around the corner at the sound of his owner's voice, and Lance scooped him up and took the cat home under his arm. Tien had handed Lance a bundle of mail, which he began sorting through in the landing of his apartment, teetering on one crutch. One particular nondescript letter stood out to him, as it had no return address. He tore it open. It would be an understatement to say that its contents shocked him. Lance dropped the shrieking Knox.


	10. Chapter 10

_It wasn't easy to find internet, my lovelies. I've been searching far and wide. But I've written many chapters (like 7!) during this hiatus, and once I can post more reliably, they will flood in. D-day for internet is tomorrow evening! As usual, I MISS READING! I want to catch up on what everyone else has been writing, but that requires quiet, extensive internet time rather than the few minutes I come to post. _

_To those following and reviewing—it means a lot! RT, I love writing Booth scenes. He so harasses Sweets, and Sweets laps it up. Ahead lies the answer to what the letter said, and in the next chapter, more Perotta!_

_Disclaimer: the usual._

_

* * *

_Lance was back at work. His face had almost returned to normal, though its bruising left a faint greenish tinge to his chin. He was still laboring on his crutches, but the lessened pain allowed him more mobility. Instead of spending his first day back at the FBI, he went straight to the Jeffersonian. He was dying to know where the new Gravedigger case was headed and how it connected to his misfortune, but mostly, admittedly, he wanted to see Bea. He had a coffee date set up with Agent Perotta for later in the week, and all in all, he was in a rather cheery mood.

Depression was still threatening him, like the hint of a budding migraine, but he was successfully pressing forward for now. The contents of a certain letter were weighing on him, and he was desperate for someone to talk to about it. He felt he couldn't make sense of it himself and was therefore glad that a meeting with Dr. Wyatt was also on the agenda for today—in fact, in just 45 minutes. Somehow he felt Wyatt would bring clarity to his situation.

Lance made a beeline for Bea's workspace. He was very disappointed to find that she wasn't in Angela's office. He observed where Bea worked. Her desk was cramped in a corner (added to the furniture Angela already had) and no wood was visible beneath the pile of debris and computer gadgets she had accumulated. He noted some snacks mixed in—oddly a slice of fresh coconut was teetering atop a stack of files. A Grizzly Bear poster (the hipster band not the mammal) hung on the wall and a picture of Lulu was taped to the computer. It was too much for the human eye to take in, and Lance felt a little nauseous looking at it. He valued tidiness and order.

Then he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He tried to turn around on his crutches but was clumsy and toppled onto Bea's messy desk, sending some papers and a cup of tea flying.

Bea tried to catch him, as she was the person who had sent him off balance.

"Uh, sorry!" Lance said, cursing his lack of grace. He couldn't help it—he wanted to impress this gorgeous woman. Her breasts said, 'Frack,' across her indigo blue tee, and he made a mental note to geek out with her over Battlestar Galactica. The new one, of course. It was totally awesome. And he should probably stop staring at her breasts.

Bea stooped to pick up her papers and waved Lance off from assisting. "Don't worry about it. I got it. One should never startle a klutz on crutches."

Lance pouted.

"Oh, God. Don't pout at me with those colossal lips. Your puppy eyes have no effect on me. I'm used to getting them from Lulu everyday and still, I make her eat her mashed peas, ok?" Bea quipped, joking but also a little irritable.

Lance thought he might have noticed the reason why—she had a dark bruise on her cheek. Bea didn't wear much makeup, and she hadn't tried to cover it up. He noticed also that the green streak in her bun was now violet.

Bea touched her face when she noticed Lance staring at her bruise. "I smacked my face on a cabinet."

"Dr. Vu—"

"It's Bea, Sweets," she interrupted.

"Bea, I read people's lies for a living."

Bea gazed at him with continued annoyance. "Ok, then I smacked my face on some klutz's crutches." She stared at him hotly until he finally looked away.

Lance collected himself. "You're obviously extremely intelligent. Why don't you get yourself out of this mess? I can help."

"Excuse me, Sweets, but I have no idea what you're talking about, and I don't appreciate your implication." She was wiping furiously at the spilled tea with a sweater from the back of her chair, which Lance found vaguely unsanitary. She did not turn around.

Lance knew when to quit. Bea was extremely stubborn. He began to hobble past her toward the door. "If you need a safe place to stay or you need to talk—come to my office at the FBI, come to my apartment. It's the big building next to Sal's Pizza in Cleveland Park. Call me. Whenever. I know what it's like to feel like there is no escape. But there is for you. Ok? You deserve so much more than you're allowing yourself."

Bea's mouth opened with a half-formed sarcastic comment and then snapped shut. Tears leapt into her eyes as she practically slammed the door on Lance's retreating figure. Through the glass he could see her shoving wet papers into the trashcan, cursing.

* * *

"Good to see you, Dr. Wyatt," Lance said through his wires. His jaw was so tight, and he already felt tired of talking, though he had only briefly stopped by the Jeffersonian before coming to the diner. His conversation with Bea had been taxing.

"And you, Dr. Sweets. Might I add that you look like you've gone after your chin with green magic marker? It's quite the sight," Wyatt said jovially.

"Thanks for noticing," Lance said with friendly sarcasm.

The waitress brought them coffees, which Lance proceeded to dump about a cup of cream into. He usually had his coffee black, but any liquid that was colder or hotter than lukewarm hurt his teeth.

Wyatt raised an eyebrow at Lance and asked, "What on earth are you eating with your jaw bound like that?"

Lance said, "I'm on a totally liquid diet. I drink a lot of Ensure. You wouldn't believe the things I've tried to put into the blender lately."

Wyatt grimaced. "Well then, I won't torture you by ordering any of the greasy offerings from this fine establishment."

"Dr. Wyatt?"

"Yes?"

"I wanted to ask you about something. You know that I'm adopted. Well, by the time I was taken out of my biological parent's home at age 5, my mother had already fled. She left when I was around 4—my biological father was hurting her as well. She didn't even try to take me with her," Lance added bitterly. Wyatt was regarding him with interest. "I…I received a letter a few days ago from my biological mother. I'm not sure what to do."

Wyatt looked surprised. "Oh? Has she ever contacted you before?"

"Definitely not."

"Well, what did this letter say, if you don't mind me asking?" Wyatt continued.

Lance heaved a heavy sigh and sank down in his chair a little. Why was he unloading this on Wyatt? What could Wyatt tell him that he didn't already know? Lance still felt some tenderness toward the shadowy figure of his biological mother, though he wished he didn't. She had been a librarian and had provided him with books—his only toys and companions as a child. Lance didn't go to school when he lived with his biological parents, but he read so voraciously that he was advanced far beyond his age when he was taken away. His mother had brought him math books, literature, philosophy, history, anything and everything. Though he believed her to be incredibly selfish to have left him to the wolves, he did credit her at least partially with his advanced intellect.

Lance answered Wyatt's question about her letter, "She wrote that she had abandoned me, because she had been terrified. She didn't think either of us could survive his wrath. She also said that she joined the circus in Florida as a psychic, which I already knew."

Lance thought about how his mother was always very good at reading people, just as he was. They had both developed this skill in hopes of sparing themselves from his father's violent rages.

He continued, "She even mentioned which circus, in case I want to contact her." Lance gazed out the window at passersby—a woman holding her small son's hand as the two giggled and promenaded.

"And how did this make you feel?" Wyatt asked simply. Lance laughed inwardly—once a shrink, always a shrink.

"I have no idea. Hurt? I guess, because it took her all this time to apologize. Angry that she could possibly think I want anything to do with her. Conflicted that I actually had tried to locate her in the past and couldn't find her in the labyrinthine world of the circus." Lance had torn his eyes away from the street to look back at Wyatt, hoping for a glimmer of instruction.

"Well, are you going to write her back? Are you going to try to find her again?" Wyatt's expression was placid and unreadable, the face of a true psychiatrist.

"Um…" Lance's voice cracked. "I'm not sure I'm feeling strong enough at the moment…I don't mean physically," he interrupted himself to clarify.

"Ah yes. I picked up on this at my restaurant. You suffer from depression? How are you doing?"

Lance cringed. He hated how easily Wyatt seemed to read him. It made him feel like he had no control over how he was perceived. And yet Wyatt had once said that no one could guess what he'd been through just by looking at him. But Wyatt with his hands on Lance's _Bones: The Heart of the Matter_ was practically as psychic as his mother in the circus.

"I'm doing ok at the moment," Lance said honestly.

"What do you do for yourself?" Wyatt asked with concern.

"I meditate, and I also spend time focusing my mind on the people I want to see, the tasks I have to accomplish each day."

"I'm glad to hear it. But your attack, even this letter from your mother—a reminder of your past—could be a setback for you."

Lance nodded but then said. "The attack has also mobilized a lot of people whom I didn't really know were true friends. It turns out, they are." He thought emotionally of Cam, Perotta, Bea, even his neighbors.

Wyatt smiled. "Well then, I'll look forward to having coffee with you again next week. Perhaps you'll even want some coffee with your cream by then, eh?" he chuckled.

Lance managed a weak smile. His mind was a thousand miles away, pondering his mother's letter, lamenting Bea's plight, and cursing his stupid, sore jaw.


	11. Chapter 11

_It's a twofer, since I made you wait! This chapter's fluffy, but the next one has some serious plot advancers…wait for it. :)_

_Hugs to my readers! xoxo_

_Disclaimer: Again, the usual._

_

* * *

_The Perotta coffee rendezvous had led to a debacle. Lance and Perotta had had a pleasant enough time, chatting about their various college experiences (it turned out that Perotta was quite young—only 25, like Lance), their travels to foreign lands (Perotta had backpacked in Thailand after graduation), and a bit about the case they were mutually working on. Still the team at the Jeffersonian was stymied on who and even if Lance's assailant was a Gravedigger apprentice. Lance was more and more tempted to contact Dr. Brennan himself if no one else was willing to do it.

But Perotta…a cup of coffee had led to hanging out over several weeks, and hanging out had eventually led to sex. Lance hadn't really wanted things to progress that far, but he was quite weak willed when it came to resisting attractive women who appeared to want him, as he had been the case with Tory Payne, the Avatar floosie. Sex had been painful for Lance, not just because his leg was throbbing and he couldn't even kiss properly, but because it was obvious he was still in love with Daisy. When Perotta had left his apartment that night, he'd collapsed in tears.

Perotta had also taken the hint. When Lance had forced himself to call her the next day, because he did care for her, she had told him, "Hey, it was fun. But I can tell you're not over Daisy. Don't worry about it."

As usual, she sounded firm and confident, so he took her advice and tried to let it go. He was not one for casual sex and felt immensely guilty. He invested emotionally in basically everything he did; he simply could not help himself.

Lance had grown so distressed over the Perotta situation that he had even emailed Booth. Booth had responded a week later with the unsettling revelation that he too had slept with Perotta casually. Sweets shouldn't be concerned, Booth assured him. Perotta was tight lipped and cool about it…even if she had been a bit kinky in the bedroom. Lance didn't pursue that one, since she had seemed normal enough given the physical obstacles of Lance's broken body. She had lingered a little too long tracing the scars on his back—longer than Lance had been comfortable with. Booth had concluded his email by expressing disgust that Sweets and him now seemed to be bedding the same woman. Booth told Sweets if he was going to leave the FBI, now was the time to do it.

Truthfully, that was exactly Lance's plan. His interview at Georgetown had gone swimmingly, and he was now convinced that he wanted to teach in the fall. He'd finish out July at the FBI, take half of August to prep his classes, which were mostly introductory anyway, and then begin the semester at Georgetown. As promised, Cam would hire him as a contractor at the Jeffersonian. Lance would maintain a small office there (indeed, Zack's old office) and alternate hours between his two jobs. His days were going to be grueling and packed, but Lance was eager for intense intellectual stimulation. He didn't care to leave himself much time alone in his head.

* * *

Six weeks had passed since Lance's injuries, and he finally was free of his bondage. He was slowly regaining use of his leg by way of intense physical therapy. He had been a swimmer in college and was hitting the pool 3 or 4 times a week.

Lance hadn't tracked down the circus or answered his mother's letter, though he pondered her communication every day. It nagged at him and made him uneasy. He wished his real parents—his adopted parents—were still alive to offer their wisdom.

But on this Saturday, to celebrate the release of his jaw, he and Bea were having lunch at the Royal Diner with Lulu. Lance had the sense things were escalating between Bea and Perry, and he tried to make himself available to her whenever possible. He wanted to personally march over to Bea's house and smack the lowlife with the stupid name in the face, but of course, this was just fantasy. The picture of Perry he had seen revealed a man far too burly for Lance to take down.

At this moment, Lulu was sitting on Lance's lap, attempting to grab everything within reach on his plate and then smearing it on his black t-shirt. Lance didn't mind. He was totally smitten with this tiny human. She then managed to spill ketchup on the crotch of his faded jeans.

"Hmmm…that's not going to look good," Lance said wistfully, and tried to wipe it up while balancing the child.

"Let me take her—she's out of control, Sweets!" Bea insisted.

"No, no. What else can she do now? I already look like my crotch has been attacked by a pack of rabid dogs," Lance assured her.

"Alright then. So…whatever happened with you and Perotta? She's pretty, if blond. I thought maybe you two were developing a thing," Bea prompted.

Lance blushed a little at the memory of his ill-fated fling with Perotta, as Lulu unintentionally clocked him in the sore jaw. Did he detect some jealousy in Bea's tone? "Owww. Uh, we had a very minor thing, but…"

"But you're still not over Daisy."

"No, I'm not. We were engaged. I wanted to start a family with her. Why is everyone trying to rush me? I just need some time!" He said sharply.

"Hey chill. I'm not trying to rush you. Take all the time you need—turn 80 and still be pining for all I care. Geez," Bea huffed.

Lance scoffed, "I'm not going to love her forever, I just…well, you know it really irked me that all of my friends seemed to be glad when she left me. They all said it was for the best. No one seemed to care that it might really hurt."

Bea offered, "Well that might seem presumptuous and annoying of them now, but someday you'll appreciate their honesty. You could have made a big mistake marrying her. What was she like anyway?" Lance noted the use of the past tense, as if Daisy were dead.

"Well she is…a couple years older than I am, she was very talkative and a little socially awkward, I guess. She was like a little ball of energy who flung herself around spreading joy in my life. Every time I saw her I had to smile. And well, we had a very _intense_ relationship," Lance finished suggestively.

Bea considered this assessment. "So the sex was good. You're such a man, Sweets. How did it go wrong?"

"Well…it was going great until she was presented with a fabulous career opportunity. I looked shabby compared to ancient human remains in Indonesia, I guess."

"Yeah it's hard to compete with those," Bea said, rolling her eyes. "Well, I think she didn't realize what she had in front of her. And it seems like you two were in different places. You want a family, stability, love, and she wants to pursue her professional dreams. You've basically already achieved many of yours. There's really nothing wrong with either of your goals, it's just you're a little more settled than she is." Bea stabbed an enormous forkful of salad and then tossed it back onto her plate with disgust. "They've got to get some vegan options here, Compadre. I'm sick of iceberg lettuce."

"Yeah," Lance agreed distracted. He looked slyly at the compact Asian woman sitting across from him wearing a vibrant green v-neck which revealed yet another tiny tattoo in Vietnamese. "How old are you? I thought you were younger when I first met you, but then you told me your family was displaced by the Vietnam War…"

"Yeah, I get that a lot—looking young. People at the grocery store call me 'Honey' and card me on wine purchases until I want to lunge across the counter and wring their ever-loving necks. I'm almost 32, Sweets. I'm getting old."

Lance laughed, "Yeah, I know a thing or two about looking young. I'm destined to have my cheeks pinched for eternity. I'm 25," he offered.

"I know. Cam told me."

"Oh, what else has Cam told you about me?"

"Not much. You're nerdy," she began, which made Lance pout. "You have like a zillion doctorates and are some kind of prodigy. She said you play piano. Of course, I play some piano and violin. _I'm Asian_."

"Rolling out the stereotypes, huh? What do your parents do?"

"Prepare yourself for more stereotypes," she said sighing. "They run a nail shop in LA."

"No! Really? Hah." Lance imagined her parents sticking Lee Press-On Nails onto bored, tanned women.

"Yeah, and they're super crazy immigrants. Whenever I see them, which is like once every 5 years they say, 'Bea, you so fat! You so ugly! What happen to our baby girl?' And of course they resent like hell that I had a child out of wedlock. Yet they send Lulu all kinds of crap she doesn't need. Like frilly dresses that make me want to puke."

Lance was cracking up, but feeling like perhaps he shouldn't be, given Bea's off color imitations of her parents.

Bea finished, "But does anyone really like their parents?"

"I do," Lance said, frowning deeply. "I loved my parents. I was adopted, and my parents were the greatest gift I was ever given in life." He was defiant.

Bea remembered that at the hospital Lance had mentioned having no next of kin. But she didn't feel like prying into his parents' demise. Today was supposed to be about celebrating Lance's recovery. Besides, he was making his puppy dog face that was too cute to be serious around.

"You know what I think we should do?" She asked as Lulu let out a squeal and a stream of babble. Now she had to talk over the baby. "Skype Dr. Brennan about the case. I've been pouring over some of the past Gravedigger cases and things don't add up. For instance, how does Heather Taffett get a 180-pound unconscious man out his window? Booth's a big guy, I understand."

"Yeah, I've always wondered about that," Lance agreed, a little surprised that Bea had changed the conversation so abruptly. But Bea often avoided any subject that might touch on Lance's past. She wasn't nosy, unlike him.

"How did she move fridges, caskets, a car, capsules? How did she do that stuff without help?"

"I know. I think she's always had an accomplice," Lance agreed.

"Me too. And you know what else? I think Dr. Brennan might have the answer we're looking for. Besides, I'm eager to meet her, if only via the internet."

"Dr. Brennan is certainly unique. She does take some getting used to, but I'm an enormous fan," Lance said.

* * *

_Yes, my friends. Dr. Brennan to the rescue in the next chapter!_


	12. Chapter 12

_I'm baaackk! Who's addicted to internet? Admit it, you needed some Dr. Brennan in your life, and you shall get her! Plus, Lance finally makes some decisions, but the depression is back with a vengeance. _

_I get to respond to reviews now! I seriously devour them, so please keep them coming! __**HPLover21**__, thanks for reading so voraciously. I too wish the Bones writers would do more with Sweets—in fact, I read interviews with the actresses who play Angela and Cam, and they agreed they also want more Sweets. __**RT**_, _you know I can't resist an opportunity for casual sex. j/k, j/k. Lance was trying out a new behavior and failed miserably—that's why he had to get in touch with Booth for reassurance. He will always be a commitment kind of guy, don't worry.__** Seletua,**__ thanks for reading—please return! _

_I'm up to chapter 16 in my own writing of this story and think it probably has a life of around 20-25 chapters. So we are more than halfway there._

_Disclaimer: The Usual._

_

* * *

_

For the next month, Lance had some good days and some bad days. On his good days, he was really enjoying his new friends and anticipating his future plans with excitement. On his bad days, he could barely drag himself out of bed, his heart ached for Daisy so much. His bed felt desperately empty, but at least Knox had taken to sleeping on the pillow next to him. Sometimes he found himself counting breaths to measure the passing moments of his life. _Whatever keeps me breathing_, he thought.

Lance continued to meet with Dr. Wyatt, who helped him through some of his darker moments. Cam had also been kind, and the two had been meeting for lunch frequently. Cam also needed a bit of extra support, as Michelle was driving her crazy. Cam was trying to be cool, but she had incrementally been pushing Michelle's curfew earlier and earlier to postpone the inevitable teenage rendezvous.

On this particular day, Lance's last at the FBI, Cam had finally agreed that it was time to check in with Dr. Brennan. She had resisted so long in an attempt to protect Brennan—after all, the anthropologist had left in order to escape the Gravedigger case in particular and forensics more generally. Cam thought it was a bit insensitive of Sweets and Bea to be pushing so hard for Brennan's assistance. Cam caved when she became fearful that the entire summer would slip away before they made any progress. They had set up a Skype date with Brennan, and right on time Brennan's face appeared before them on the screen by the forensics platform.

In addition to Sweets, Cam, and Bea, Fischer was on rotation and hovering around. He kept ogling Bea, which annoyed Lance. He was leaning a little backwards with his hands in his pockets (typical Sweets' posture), glowering at Fischer until he saw Brennan materialize. She looked like just as he remembered her, only tanner. Her eyes shone brightly as ever, but she had cut bangs into her shiny brown hair. Lance literally felt joy at the sight of her.

"So what is this about a Gravedigger accomplice?" Brennan asked abruptly.

"And hello to you too, Dr. Brennan," Cam laughed amicably. "You look great. Love the bangs. We've all missed you! This is Bea our new computer expert."

Before Bea could say hello, Dr. Brennan jumped back in. "You think the accomplice attacked Sweets? What makes you think that? Sweets, you look so thin," she chided. "Have you made a full recovery?"

Lance utterly delighted in her attention—a sure sign she cared and possibly missed him too. "I'm fine, Dr. Brennan. We think it might have been a potential accomplice, because a tazor was found at the scene, among other things."

Dr. Brennan nodded. Cam said, "I'm sorry to bring up this subject when I know it's painful, but did you notice any signs that an accomplice may have helped in yours and Hodgin's abduction?"

Dr. Brennan looked pensive. "It's certainly conceivable. The evidence from the car we were confined in was too compromised from the explosion and of course, Booth's capsule was destroyed in the bomb. We went over and over the evidence from the other kidnappings and didn't find anything there."

Cam nodded. This was exactly the problem.

"Hodgins was hit by a car, and I was tazored. I'm confused about the order of things but…it seems that there was likely another attacker involved." Brennan looked like a light bulb lit up over her head. She grew excited. "The husband!"

"The husband?" Cam asked confused.

But Sweets snapped his fingers and said, "Taffet was married for a brief time and then annulled the marriage. She did it to develop an alternate identity to rent the storage locker where she stored her implements. He's definitely worth checking out. Good thinking, Dr. Brennan."

"Sweets, you know by now that I am able to reason at a much higher level than the average human," Brennan responded with confidence. She looked very pretty, and had a giant green stone clasped about her elegant neck.

Sweets grinned, "I do, but, you know, I've missed having you around to prove it."

Brennan looked confused but pleased. She continued her conversation with Lance, ignoring everyone else. "Sweets, I hope you've moved on from Daisy. She's certainly moved on from you. She has a new boyfriend—a local. He's not as intelligent as you, but he's significantly more brawny. They seem to copulate frequently, anyway."

It was like she had stabbed Lance in the heart. He knew she was probably saying this to be encouraging, but it had come across very harsh. Anyone who didn't know Dr. Brennan as well as Lance would have probably forsaken her then and there.

"Uh…thanks?" Lance tried. He felt so uncomfortable and hot that he excused himself quickly to the bathroom. He heard Brennan chatting a bit more with the ensemble. She was ordering Fischer to do a task he deemed odious. In the restroom, Lance put down a toilet lid and sat atop it. He attempted to clear his mind, because he felt his brain might explode. His chest was so tight he could barely breath.

"Dr. Sweets?" a voice called an indeterminate period of time later. Through his Zen state, Lance recognized the voice as Cam's.

"Cam are you in the men's room?" Lance asked, perplexed.

"I'm just poking my head in. Are you ok?" Cam called.

Lance came out of the stall and looked at Cam's face which was hovering in the door like a disembodied Cheshire cat. In the place of a toothy grin, however, was an apprehensive frown.

"I'm ok."

"Good. Then we need you to look through your Gravedigger profile again and glean what you can about Taffet's marriage," Cam said.

"I'm on it," Lance said. He was relieved when Cam retracted her head. His brain was nowhere near 'on it.' It was in Indonesia imaging Daisy humping a beefy local.

* * *

As the summer weeks before Lance's new job were growing short, Lance knew he had a decision to make: to go or not to go to Florida to see his bio mom. Part of him was extremely curious and the other wanted to pretend that he had been born to the Sweets family. Years one through six of his life had simply been blotted out by their love.

Dr. Wyatt wasn't going to tell Lance what to do. When it came to children of abusive relationships, it was not a compulsory part of therapy to forgive or confront your abuser. Not that his mother had laid a hand on him directly, but she had certainly seen what his father was doing and hadn't intervened. She was party to the abuse.

Daisy had told Lance before she left that he was not "Mr. Adventure," and he was beginning to think she was right. Wouldn't anyone want to make this journey to understand their own birth? Finally, if out of nothing more than spite (he was currently livid with Daisy), he bought a plane ticket to Miami, where his mother's circus was performing. The trip would be brief.

Lance's depression had set in to a slow, burning ache after learning that Daisy had moved on. He tried to tell himself that he too had had sex with someone else, but it had only made him miserable. It was the only time he had ever had casual sex, and it had sucked, actually. All he could do was replay the image he was concocting of Daisy laughing, flirting, and f-ing another man. It was too much for him. Perhaps he was going to Florida just to escape his own personal hell.

On the night before he had an early flight scheduled, a strange event occurred that would change his life. It was almost 11 pm, and Lance was in his boxers and a t-shirt just about to go to bed. He heard a knock at the door and peeked through his peep hole. It was Bea and Lulu, and they appeared to be hobos. Bea had two enormous bags slung over her shoulders and a diaper bag across her chest.

He opened the door in shock.

"Bea! What? What's going on?" Bea was crying, which was hard to imagine let alone see in person. The woman was practically a stoic when it came to life's hard knocks. Lance took her bags, which he flung to the side, and then grabbed Lulu and ushered them in.

Bea's lip was bloody and she had red welts on her forehead and arms that would turn to bruises.

"I left him. It's over. I came here—a safe place," she said rapidly.

Lulu looked wide-eyed in fear but also very sleepy. She alternately rubbed her eyes and twirled her hair. Lance shifted into professional gear—emergency clean up was needed.

"Is it ok if I lay Lulu down on my bed for now?" he asked the distraught Bea.

"Yeah."

Lance gently placed the little girl on his bed, and she fell asleep almost immediately.

He returned to the front room to find Bea seated at his piano bench, staring blankly but calmer, and led her by the hand to his bathroom. He took out his first aid materials—alcohol, butterfly band-aids, some Neosporin. He tried to tend to Bea, but she brushed him off and did it herself.

"How badly are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?" he questioned.

"No," she responded flatly. "It's just some superficial stuff."

"Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"No. It's just the same old s-."

"But why did you leave this time?"

"He attacked me when I was holding Lulu. I almost dropped her."

That was enough for Lance. "We should contact the police."

Bea turned around to face Lance and said with venom, "WE are not calling the police. WE are not doing anything, or I am leaving."

Lance threw up his hands and said, "Ok, ok. I won't do anything without your permission. Stay here as long as you need. I want you to stay." His voice was tender.

"You mean it?" she asked dabbing at her forehead.

"Yes. Let me get you ice for that…Bea, I was supposed to leave in the morning for Florida for a few days. Some personal business. I can cancel…"

"No, go. If we can stay here while you're gone, maybe I can get my act together by the time you come back."

"Does Perry know where you are?" Lance asked, worried.

"No idea. We'll be fine here. He doesn't even know you exist."

This revelation hurt Lance a little. He wanted to be important in her life.

"Then ok. I'll leave you my key. I'll get that ice. Bea?" Lance said, lingering in the doorway.

"What," she stated rather than asked.

Lance approached her and wrapped his arms around her. He hugged her until tears were streaming down her cheeks once again. "It's ok, you're safe now. You're safe with me." Bea sobbed for what seemed an eternity. Her small shoulders shook, and Lance did not let go.


	13. Chapter 13

_I couldn't resist. I have so much written and polished at this point, I just want to be out with it all. Second posting of the day, ho! Besides, I wish I were in Florida right now. It's freezing here! Brrr...  
_

_Thanks for reading, everyone. It thrills me! RT, I can't wait to read where you go with Lance and bio mom in The Heart of the Family—the best fic of all time. :) You'll find his experience in Florida in this story…disappointing for him. And short. He shouldn't have come, but Sweets' brain hasn't been functioning correctly since the season finale, since mine hasn't been either!_

_

* * *

_

Lance was downright frightened. He had just left a friend in need whom he very much cared about in a potentially dangerous situation, and he was on a plane to see the woman who had given birth to him and then left him to rot under the bleak care of his father. Why was he doing this? Hadn't his summer been hard enough—first losing his future wife and most of his friends to time and space and then being brutally attacked?

Lance was seated on the plane by the window next to an elderly woman with wild silvery curls, pouring over a crossword. Lance's own curls were slightly unruly, but he had taken to wearing his glasses more often lately—they were simple black frames—because he thought they made him look older. The last thing he wanted was his new students at Georgetown to think he was a college student rather than their professor. He was tired of being undervalued because of his youthful appearance.

They were an hour or so into the flight when Lance struck up a conversation with the elderly lady. He was one of those people who talked on planes—he couldn't help it. He was fascinated by people and delighted in meeting strangers.

"So are you returning home to Florida or just visiting?" he asked her, eagerly.

"Oh, I'm returning home; I was visiting my daughter and her family in Washington. And you?"

"I'm…well, I don't really know what I'm doing," Lance admitted confused. "I'm meeting my birth mother for the first time in 20 years, I guess." For whatever reason, the usually guarded Lance was perfectly willing to share this with a complete stranger.

"Oh!" she exclaimed with interest. "I'm Twila, by the way."

"Lance." They shook hands.

"Well, you must be very nervous, young man. Do you remember her at all?"

"A bit. I vaguely remember that she had dark brown hair—almost black—and brown eyes that look like mine. She used to sneak me books and Yoohoos." Lance laughed. What strange memories he had of her.

"Was she kind?" Twila wondered.

"She was…quiet. But she smiled at me sometimes. She didn't really touch me, you know, but she seemed fond enough of me." _Just not enough to save me_, he thought. When he thought about it, it still really hurt that he had almost never been hugged by his birth parents. Touched inappropriately by his father, but rarely hugged. His mother hadn't even uttered the word goodbye to him when she left. To this day, Lance craved physical contact with those he cared about almost more than anything. Perhaps this need had contributed to creating a blind spot with the super-affectionate Daisy.

Twila said, "Honey, some advice. It's natural to be curious about our roots, but you don't have to feel guilty if you don't love her. Just find out what you want to know and move on. You don't owe her anything."

Lance looked at Twila with gratefulness. "Did you used to be a counselor? That's exactly what I needed to hear."

Twila grinned and moved her chair back to recline, tossing her crossword aside. "No, honey, but I've been a mother for 50 years. I've given a lot of advice. And…I was adopted myself." She closed her eyes, but Lance was not ready to let her drift off to sleep.

He said, "She's not my mother, you know," more to himself. "My mother died a few years ago. A real mother hugs her son."

Twila looked at Lance from under heavy lids and said kindly, "You are absolutely right. A mother always hugs her child. I suspect this woman you are going to see knows that she is not your rightful mother. Good luck on your journey, Lance." Twila closed her eyes and then so did Lance.

* * *

Once in Florida, Lance had checked into his hotel—a lurid palm-themed affair—changed out of his stale plane clothing, and then sought out the circus almost immediately. After all, he had come to Miami for one reason. He bought a circus ticket from a bored clown, who looked like Raggedy Anne, at the entrance and soon found himself surrounded by giggling children gnawing on cotton candy, harried looking parents flitting after them, and the odd characters who composed the circus milling about.

Lance couldn't help but think of the Jeffersonian case in which Booth and Brennan had concocted a fairly stellar circus act as a cover. Booth had knife throwing chops like you wouldn't believe. Lance dressed plainly, trying to fit in, unlike the last time he had fruitlessly sought his mother among circus folk. He was wearing a dark green t-shirt, which contrasted with his brown eyes, faded blue jeans and tennis shoes. He wasn't wearing his glasses now, and in fact, he could be mistaken for a boy of 18 rather than a jaded man of 25.

When he had sought out his mother at the circus for the first time, he had been in college studying psychology. He wanted to silence the voices of his past by investigating the shadowy figures who composed it. It bothered him that every time a doctor asked for his family medical history, he had no information to tell. Did his family have a history of heart disease? Diabetes? He had no idea what terminus of life his genes might hold in store for him. It bothered him that he could only guess his ethnic heritage—half Jewish, half Irish?—based on what little he knew of family names and could remember of his birth parents' features. He had been feeling angry and accusatory when he had tried to find his mother before. Perhaps his emotional baggage had contributed to making the trip ill-fated.

This time he was not so angry (at least not at his mother), but just sort of sad and drifting through the crowds. It was dusk but still hot and humid. He tried to think of what he would ask when he found her. Then he noticed a tent set up that read 'psychic.' He panicked. In fact, he hid behind a nearby pole, which caused a suspicious mother to usher her child behind her skirt for fear that he was mad.

Lance remained perfectly still behind the pole staring at the little tent. After what seemed an eternity, a man emerged wearing a muscle tee, his arms punctuated by giant tough-guy tattoos—of Mom hearts, bulldogs, _those_ kind of tattoos. And then, before Lance could prepare himself, a woman emerged wearing billowing, gypsy-like robes. She had a mixture of brownish-black hair shot through with silver streaks. Her features were elegant, her eyelashes long. She was a tall woman with a thin waste. Her lips were plump and attractive.

It was her. Lance ran off, pushing through the crowd.


	14. Chapter 14

_A short one, purposely. Coming to Florida was a mistake, but Lance is a curious fellow and couldn't help himself. The languid days of summer are coming to an end in this story, folks. You'll get a fast forward in the second half of the next chapter._

_RT, thanks for being so dedicated to reviewing! It means the world. Daisy, despite all of her flaws, definitely lavished Sweets with love, pet names, and praise (e.g. "We're both beautiful people, Lance, we're bound to get jealous sometimes.") I def think he needed that. You always do a good job of writing his parents' consistent attempts to show affection in THotF, so I suspect you picked up on this need too! I've never been to the circus myself. But I did watch "Her Alibi" a TON in 1989! :) A totally underrated movie._

_

* * *

_

That night in his hotel, Lance tossed and sweated in his cheap blankets. After initially feeling like a coward for fleeing at the sight of his mother, he was now beginning to accept that he needed to better prepare himself to do this thing that was incredibly difficult. Just seeing her again made him feel like he was transported back in time—he became the scared little unloved boy whose life was in constant danger. This was a stressful situation to the extreme, and Lance needed to use every ounce of his training to get through it.

He threw in the towel at trying to sleep by 5:30 am. Instead he got up, sat in the corner as the sun rose warmly over his body and meditated. He showered and put on a crisp, professional button down shirt, which made him feel more in control than his "civilian" attire of yesterday and then had breakfast at a local cafe. When the hour was more reasonable, he called Bea.

"Hello?" Her familiar voice asked.

"Bea, it's Sweets."

"Hi Sweets. How is sunny Florida?"

"Ok, I guess. How are you and Lulu doing? Are you staying safe?"

"Yeah, we're good, Sweets. We haven't gotten out much, but I've been reconfiguring your wireless network and swapping out all of your manly foods with vegan fare. You'll have a new identity waiting for you by the time you return."

"Great, thanks," Lance said with sarcasm. "I suppose you're making a complete mess of my tidy apartment, as well?"

"Most definitely," Bea said. They were joking with each other but neither one was in the mood to laugh.

"Bea?"

"Sweets?"

"I'm in Florida to visit my birth mother. I've not seen her since she left when I was a little boy."

"Oh," Bea said. She was too exhausted by her own burdens to inquire further, but she thought vaguely that the scars she had heard about on Lance's back might have something to do with that woman. "When you come back, we can talk about it. Lulu and I will be thinking of you, Sweets. We love you."

Lance started. It was the kind of statement said among close friends, and yet Lance was only used to such affection except from past lovers. Usually Bea veiled her emotions; he wondered what she could have possibly guessed about his past to realize how much he was hurting and needed comfort. He swallowed and then tried, "Love you guys, too." Just the act of saying those words made him feel better.

* * *

Back at the circus and standing in front of his birth mother's dingy but brightly colored tent, Lance tried to anticipate what would happen next. Frankly, he couldn't even think of a single question to ask this woman. _Why in the world had he come?_ No turning back now. He lifted a flap.

Lance was immediately choked with the stench of sandalwood incense. One couldn't breathe in the close, reeking space, let alone think. It was no wonder his mother could convince people that she could read the future—his IQ was already dropping. And there she was seated in front of him, eyes closed, a cheap crystal ball on a small table between them.

"Sit," she said without opening her eyes. He couldn't decide if her voice was familiar or not after all these years. Not, he settled upon.

He sat, and she put her elegant hands on the ball. Finally she opened her eyes to reveal vague surprise.

"You."

"Me."

She shifted into fortune mode, "You've been in great pain recently."

"Wow, that must have been hard to guess," he snapped. He was irritable, partially from the incense, partially from her attempt to detach herself from the reality before her by pretending to read his fortune like any other customer.

"You've been abandoned by those dear to you—a love lost."

"Seriously, is that all you've got? Because you're basically describing what _you_ did to me." Lance had to admit, the things she was saying were also true of him now. Talk about repeating life cycles. Would he always be doomed to anguish?

The spiritual quality of her stage voice dissipated, and she said, "What do you want to know? There must be something, or you wouldn't have come here. Me, I wanted to know what you looked like. How you turned out. Very handsome," she appraised, her eyes narrowed. She had on a brightly colored head scarf today fringed with gold coins.

Lance thought this woman was nothing like he had hoped or imagined. She was selfish and almost cold.

"I've turned out fine," he wanted to add, _no thanks to you_. But suddenly he felt like being the better person. He wanted to leave a positive impression to do service to his real parents. They had raised him to be compassionate and kind. He decided this would be his only communication with the woman seated before him.

So Lance said, "Thank you for the books."

"The books?" she appeared confused.

"You're Jewish?" Lance asked, ignoring her. She looked very Jewish.

"_You're _Jewish," she said, correcting him. After all, Jewish identity progressed matrilineally.

He looked at her. "Please don't contact me again. You and me…we have nothing except _that_ in common. I wish you well." He attempted to keep his voice steady, but he realized he had about 3.5 seconds before he might break down. Swiftly he departed from the woman who had labored with him and fed him at her breasts but had not been his mother.


	15. Chapter 15

_The brisk pace of updates continues! The trip from Florida resolved, and a fast forward._

_Love to my readers! RT, my faithful friend, you are so right. Vegan cat food is not going to tempt any cat I've ever met. I completely agree that Sweets dresses as he does to appear older and more impermeable. I admit, as a young looking person, I do that as well._

_Disclaimer: Yep.  
_

_

* * *

_

Back from Florida, Lance approached the door to his apartment. Emotions were swirling in his mind, making it race. He was even starting to worry that he was going to have to visit a practicing psychiatrist instead of Wyatt to get back on antidepressants. No matter what it took, he couldn't lose control. Lance promised himself that he'd try to reduce rather than compound his stress from this day forward for at least the foreseeable future. Then again, he had a battered woman and child taking refuge in his apartment just beyond this door, a stressful ongoing case at the Jeffersonian that had almost claimed his life, and he was beginning a new job in just a few weeks. Stress was around and in him.

Lance knocked, since he had given Bea his key. She answered, shushing him as Lulu was napping in his bedroom. Her injuries from a few days ago were improving, he noted.

Knox said, "Mew!" and Lance picked up the cat to pet him.

"That cat! He's positively supercilious," Bea said with disgust. Her hair was tied in a long ponytail, vaguely reminiscent of Daisy.

"Well, he's a cat. They come in one flavor: pompous," Lance said defensively, and then gazing beyond Bea his jaw dropped in horror. "Have you considered that his indignation might be related to the fact that you've covered every inch of livable space in crap?"

This was not an understatement. Lance's couch was drowning in clothes, his coffee table barely visible underneath books and papers. There were unidentifiable wires and electronic equipment everywhere. It seemed Bea's desk had taken Lance's apartment hostage. He glanced toward the kitchen area, which was worse—dirty dishes piled high, open food containers, fruit strewn about. Then he saw it: a coffee mug set right on top of his grand piano. He slung Knox under one arm and sprinted at his piano to save it from an eternal ring of liquid.

Lance tried to calm himself, but messes made his skin crawl. What was that about sparing him stress? He turned slowly around to face Bea after placing Knox on his piano bench, who purred at his master expectantly.

"You sit over there," he pointed Bea toward the couch. "I'm going to clean up this mess, and then this is not going to happen again. Understand?"

Bea attempted to hide her smile behind feigned surprise. "I don't take orders, you know."

"You can stay here as long as you like, but I cannot handle this level of disorder! It makes me…" Lance scratched his arm violently, "_itch_."

For the next hour and a half Lance organized Bea's things. As he was scrubbing the floor on his hands and knees, Bea, who had been reading one of his psychology reference books out of sheer boredom, came and sat on the floor to talk to him.

"So, you wanna tell me why you went to Florida to chase a ghost from your past?" she asked. Her nose ring glinted at him.

Taking in her appearance, Lance noticed that she was wearing one of his favorite button-down shirts over her jeans—a nice shirt, not a lounge on the floor shirt. He rolled his eyes. God, she was presumptuous (and supremely hot in his clothes). Bea noticed him looking at his shirt and shrugged, "I like the smell of your detergent. Lavender."

Lance, liking this answer, responded to her question. "I don't know what the hell I was thinking." Scrub, scrub. "She sent me a letter, and stupidly, I went to find out what she was like."

"And what was she like?"

"She was…aloof. And a wash up, really. A freaking psychic in a circus. She used to be a librarian—she was once intelligent. I mean, he ruined everyone's lives he touched."

"He?"

"My biological father." Lance looked like he was trying to bore a hole in the floor with his scrub brush. Bea put her hand on his arm to still him. She moved over, her knees drenched in the pooled water on the floor.

"Sweets, don't do that." She gripped his arm now, her face just inches from his. He realized that he wanted to kiss her—her lips were pink and well-shaped, like a tiny heart. He resisted, though he could feel her breath, and it was enticing.

"Don't do that to yourself," she continued. "Those people you were born to, they don't have to influence you anymore. You don't have to let them. You have done so well for yourself; you have so much to be proud of." She sighed. "He hurt you, didn't he?" It was unlike her to pry.

Tears formed in Lances' eyes, and he was disappointed to realize that he was going to cry over his stupid mother and his tortured past once again. As he put his head down on Bea's close shoulder, she embraced him. For the second time in several days, the two broken people found themselves holding on to each other for dear life.

"Why can't I get over it? After all these years, I'm still not over it." Tears soaked into the shirt Bea was wearing.

"I know," Bea said. "All that 'God won't give you more than you can handle' crap they taught me in Catholic school…you and I specialize in proving that sentiment wrong."

* * *

_December_

Over the fall and into early winter, Lance began teaching and found he quite liked it. His students were mostly bright and motivated and seemed to appreciate his energy and youthfulness. When he was in the classroom, he was his old (non-depressed) self—ebullient, goofy, optimistic, and curious. When he left the classroom, he retreated into the quiet darkness that had been consuming him for months.

He found that writing his lectures, grading papers, and trying to rewrite _Bones: The Heart of the Matter_ kept him away from the Jeffersonian more than he had intended. Though he was consulting less there, he found he didn't mind as Bea and Lulu were still staying in his home, keeping him apprised of the various cases.

The Gravedigger accomplice case had gained some momentum as the team sought Taffet's former husband, but he was not located. No other attacks besides Lance's had occurred, so they moved on for the time being to their usual array of cases. Perhaps they would revisit it when Dr. Brennan came back in May. It was hard to believe she had already been gone for over 6 months.

Lance also had lunch with Cam at least once or twice a week. Cam was as solid a rock as ever, though her relationship with Paul, Michelle's former gynecologist, was making painfully slow progress. Mostly she had been pouring her energies into helping her daughter adjust to the beginnings of adult life—managing love, sex, and preparing for college.

Cam, for her part, noticed that a change had taken place in Sweets that appeared to be lasting. He seemed older, but also sadder, more brooding. She mainly blamed Daisy's departure and longed a little for the glimmers of the old Sweets—who imitated robots, proclaimed himself 'Mr. Adventure,' and made reckless use of the words 'wicked' and 'awesome.' With a heavy heart, she supposed all of her children were growing up.

Lance still missed Daisy, but his yearning for her was becoming more about the idea rather than the person. He was also becoming very attached to Bea, which was easy to do considering they had lived together for 4 months. Nothing romantic had occurred between him and his boarder, but he increasingly felt an electricity between them.

They had their routines, like any roommates. Lance slept on the couch and tended to be groggy and grumpy in the morning before transforming into his usual cheerful self. Bea let him awake slowly, as he liked, and left him to meditate and prepare to face the day. She knew he was depressed, but she honestly did not know how to help him. So she made the coffee and set him out a mug each morning, while she went to shower and dress her baby. By the time she reemerged Lance might say a few words of greeting, as he read the paper. She would put Lulu on his knee, and the two made a fetching pair in the morning sun.

Lance rarely came home for dinner, as his work schedule was almost manic. He was a first year professor, after all. When he did come home at 7 or 8, he would often read to Lulu in her pajamas and then allow Bea her secret motherly bedtime routine. Finally, Bea would call him in, and he would kiss the child goodnight. If he wasn't there to bid Lulu goodnight, Bea told Lance that Lulu would cry. When Lulu was slumbering, Lance and Bea might play quiet duets—him on the piano, her on the violin—or read. It was almost as if they were a real family.

Lulu had recently turned one, taken her first steps, and was even saying a few things. Lance finally learned her real name: Eloise, which he thought as lovely as the child. She called Lance, "Ba!" which wasn't very imaginative but reserved especially for him. It secretly thrilled him when Bea explained that Ba actually meant Dad in Vietnamese.

Lately Lance wondered if he should make a move on Bea. He found her incredibly attractive, and it seemed to make sense for them to give romance a try, at least in Lance's mind. He was looking for the opportunity to drop some hint of his evolving feelings for her. Christmas was around the corner, and though he didn't put much stock in the holiday, it seemed like an appropriate time to attempt something.

What Lance didn't know was that Bea was already well aware of his feelings for her—they were palpable and frightening to her. Sometimes in the morning, when she would pad out to the kitchen to make coffee, she would watch him sleep. He looked so young; he _was_ young. She feared he was fragile and could break—there was something persistently childlike and vulnerable about the man. These attributes were what made Lance lovable but also threatening to her own carefully constructed stability, built brick by brick for Lulu. In those moments she wanted to snatch up Lulu and all of her things and flee. She was taking advantage of a kind person's hospitality, and he was falling in love with her.

Part of her wished she could love him back, but her heart was like petrified wood. She was convinced that people were better off alone, because you could only depend on yourself. Otherwise what explanation was there for people like Perry or Sweets' bio dad—people who were supposed to love you but delighted in ripping you apart?

As the December chill swept into DC, snow seemed to come more quickly than usual, and it was awfully cold. Cam had generously invited Lance, Bea, and Lulu to a Christmas gathering at her house, and the makeshift family was glad to have something to do on December 25. Staying home together was just a bit too awkward to contemplate.


	16. Chapter 16

_It may be June in reality, but in Sweets' world it's Christmas! _

_Love the reviews! RT, I totally agree! I think others often perceive Sweets as fragile or wimpy, but they fail to take into account that he is very strong indeed. He sometimes even sells himself short. I suspect Booth is aware of what Sweets is made of, though he accuses Sweets of being a Smerf in jest. :) I've always imagined Sweets to like order and cleanliness. Glad you agree! I used to have cats, so unlike, the circus, I know them well. I know that Sweets says he's a dog person, but I really don't see him spending enough time at home to tend to a dog. I was thinking of maybe letting him get one in this story…we'll see. I don't think Knox would care for that much. I'm sorry to disappoint, but Sweets is not going to enjoy his Christmas all that much. _

_Don't worry, Mendenbar. Bea and Sweets' trajectory will not be like BB. Bea is a single mom and is being protective of her daughter. I don't want to give too much away though. Thanks for reading!_

_Disclaimer…you know._

_

* * *

_

Cam was occasionally exasperated by Sweets and today was one of those days. He hadn't been coming into the Jeffersonian as much as he had promised, and his work had lacked focus. She had invited him to Christmas dinner along with Bea, Lulu, and Paul partially because she wanted to give him a talking to in a gentler setting. He seemed on edge lately. She didn't want to have to play the scolding mother with everyone, but it seemed inevitable that she would be forced to fulfill this role over and over. She couldn't really comprehend why Sweets was still so stuck on Daisy that it was compromising his efficiency. She was beginning to think that if he wanted to work in academia, he should remove there altogether because his schedule was too grueling to maintain.

Of course, she was also very fond of Sweets and didn't want to see him go.

All morning and into the afternoon, Cam and Michelle had been decorating their home with Christmas ribbons, wreaths, and candles. They went a little overboard in memory of Michelle's father, who loved Christmas. Cam put a large turkey in the oven and prepared some of the fixings. Bea had promised sweet potatoes, Lance was making apple pie (apparently his mother's secret recipe), and Paul (things had improved slightly with him) was bringing wine—he didn't cook.

Paul arrived first and promptly began playing cards with Michelle on the coffee table by the silver-trimmed tree. Cam heard a knock and the rest of her quests arrived.

Lance, Bea, and Cam exchanged Merry Christmases. Cam half-expected Sweets to be donning reindeer antlers but this new more somber Sweets didn't seem to have it in him.

"No moment of whimsy this year, Dr. Sweets?" Cam asked him.

"I…err. No I couldn't find my antlers this year," Lance said awkwardly. Lulu, who was in his arms, kicked at his stomach until he put her down. "Ow, ok, ok, geez, Lulu." She ran over to Michelle, who scooped her up. Lulu immediately began compromising the card game beyond recognition.

"Bea, drinks are in the kitchen. Can I talk to you for a moment, Dr. Sweets?" Cam signaled Sweets over to where they wouldn't be heard.

Lance looked at Cam with heavy eyes.

"You're excellent at your job, but lately you've been slipping. We haven't seen as much of you at the Jeffersonian as you'd promised. Now, I know you're busy, but do you think you've taken on too much? You have a woman and her child staying in your house, you're teaching for the first time, and frankly, you still seem distracted by Daisy being gone. I'm your friend, but I'm also your boss." Cam delivered these lines as if they were a prepared speech.

Lance took this to mean that it was not easy for her to chastise him. He knew he deserved it, and yet he whined a little, "I'm doing my best. It's not easy, you know…"

Suddenly, Caroline's words from last May came back to him. When he had told Caroline that maybe Booth and Brennan would take the success of the hoarder case to mean that they should stay together, she had replied, 'You're a nice kid, but it's time for you to grow the hell up,' or something harsh like that. Caroline was always dealing tough love to Lance and that one had really hurt.

Instead of continuing on with excuses, he said to Cam, "I'm sorry. You're right. I've been taking advantage of you. It won't happen again, boss." He added the last word a little coldly. It was never easy to be criticized. He was eager to get away from her.

Cam and Lance rejoined the group, a little distance between them now, and Lance grabbed a glass of red wine. He moved out onto the balcony for a moment to collect himself, as he was swimming in despair.

He began thinking about how he hated being younger than everyone he knew and just never seemed to fit in. Daisy had been a person he could be a bit immature and silly with when he wanted. He knew that people resented their cutesy text love language and pet names, but it had been nice to just be himself. If that even was himself…_God_, he thought, _isn't 25 too late to have an identity crisis_? He hadn't felt as free to express his feelings with April (his former girlfriend)—she had seemed to be constantly scrutinizing him for signs of being too young. He played too many video games, he was insecure around their friends, he brought up too often that he was a trained psychologist. Daisy hadn't judged so much but accepted his flaws as he'd accepted hers, at least ultimately.

Michelle opened the sliding door, "Dr. Sweets? You ok?" She shivered. "It's freezing out here." She wrapped her sweater tighter around her arms and joined him.

"Michelle, how's life?" Lance asked her, his voice unnaturally thick.

"It's all right, I guess. I can't decide what colleges to apply to. My boyfriend and I have been fighting all the time. I think we're going to break up. Everyone wants to know what I'm going to be for the rest of my life…and how am I supposed to know? Don't people change? Don't they evolve over time?" she huffed moodily.

Lance smiled. He kind of adored teenage angst. "That they do, Michelle. That they do. You can choose a vocation, but it's not going to help you figure out who you are for the rest of your life."

"What would you say are the pros and cons of being a psychologist? I like talking to people and helping them with their problems."

"Well, you have the pro side down—you get to help people immeasurably. You help them navigate the complexities of life, make good choices, cope with the pain of living. But on the con side of things, you are not always telling people what they want to hear. They don't necessarily want to listen. And, like in all things, you might be wrong in your assessment or advice. Sometimes people's lives are even on the line. Plus, if you're already an introspective person, which I suspect you are, you can drive yourself crazy self analyzing."

Michelle nodded. "I'll probably take some psych classes when I get to college."

"I think everyone should," Lance agreed.

"Dr. Sweets? Do you like Dr. Vu?"

"Err…" Lance was supremely taken aback.

"Because in most cases, I'd say go for it…but I don't want to see you get hurt again. You're a nice guy. Don't get me wrong, I like Dr. Vu—she's cool. It's just…I'm afraid she doesn't like you back."

Lance was shocked by this harsh appraisal. Later that evening, he was planning on giving Bea a Christmas card that told her how much she and Lulu meant to him along with a thin silver bracelet. Perhaps he should reevaluate. Michelle could be outspoken, but Lance felt she wouldn't have been this direct with him if she weren't really concerned for him.

Neither spoke again. They stood outside for a few more minutes and then went back in to enjoy Christmas dinner. It was warm in Cam's home but cold in Lance's chest. Christmas hadn't been a bright holiday in years for the psychologist. He always missed his parents most deeply when others were singing carols and drinking eggnog. As opposed to last year, when he had his entire Jeffersonian family (and Daisy) gathered around him at Christmas, this year he felt abandoned.

Lance never did give Bea the card or the bracelet. In fact, back at his apartment, he went so far as to toss them into the trash in his kitchen. Once again, Lance found himself alone in the dark with no guide other than himself.


	17. Chapter 17

_This chapter has existed for a long time—it's excited to get its moment in the lime light (yes, this chapter has it's own personality). It's kind of my fave and a turning point. We've come upon the nadir for Lance. But when you hit rock bottom, there's no where to go but up…I'd better get back to writing more again, as we're nearing the end of what I've actually produced. I'll get on it! Been busy with the moving to a new state kind of crap._

_Thank you to those reading! __**RT**__, I'm glad that I got your seal of approval on my comments on being a psychologist. :) As you know, I'm interested in mental health, but I study it via a different field than you and Sweets. I've grown really fond of writing Michelle scenes, for whatever reason. And finally, don't worry—things are sad for Sweets in the love department now, but everything is going poorly. This chapter is bleak, but brighter skies are ahead for Sweets AT LAST. Even I was getting tired of the angst._

_**Lanie**__, I replied to you, but again let me say: thanks for your very flattering comments! They made my day!_

_

* * *

_

It was now mid-January, a cold and bleak month. Since Christmas, a fresh wave of depression had been settling into the corners of Lance's body and threatening to drown him. Christmas had just shoveled seasonal depression on top of Lance's broader misery. He had stopped meeting with Dr. Wyatt and had taken no actions to find additional help.

Lance adored Bea and Lulu, but it was incredibly stressful navigating their presence in his home. He was so confused about his feelings toward Bea, and they were all tangled up with his lingering feelings toward Daisy. Further, Lance was still reeling from meeting his birth mother months ago. All in all, he was bereft.

One Saturday night he decided to go out instead of staying in with the girls to see if he could dull his pain with music, his past savior. For old time's sake, he suited up in black jeans and a black t-shirt and hoodie and headed for a death metal concert. The concert raged and touched the spot deep in his soul where he felt lost and hurt. Since his youth, music had practically served as Lance's religion. He proceeded to become blindingly drunk and slightly high off the cloud of pot hovering in the crowd. By the time he stumbled home it was 3 am, and he was so far gone that he felt ill. He was already disgusted with his choice to go to the concert, and it wasn't even the morning after yet.

Lance made a racket entering the apartment, and Bea padded out in a Minus the Bear t-shirt she had taken from his drawer. He pushed past her to the bathroom without saying anything and gazed into the mirror at his sweaty face. Drunk as he was, the old feeling of wanting to end his life flooded back. He was so tired, and he couldn't figure anything out. He was supposed to be married and happy by now. But he was miserable, hopeless, and off course. He went to the toilet and vomited. He vomited 3 times before he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He flushed.

Bea handed him some water, but he couldn't move his head from off the toilet seat upon which his cheek rested.

"God, Sweets. You are wasted. And you reek. I've never seen you like this. What's gotten into you?" She pulled him away from the toilet and helped him sit on the bathroom counter, so she could wipe off his face with a washcloth. He teetered a little on his perch, and she held him fast between her strong legs.

Without warning, Lance leaned over and kissed Bea. She slapped him lightly out of shock and anger. He tasted like bile and vodka.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" she demanded.

Even in a drunken stupor Lance was shocked at being physically struck by someone he cared about and cowered away from her. The abused child in him reared up and wanted to run and hide. His eyes filled with tears since Bea was blocking his escape.

"I'm sorry, Lance. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit you," Bea looked scared and exasperated that Lance was crying. So much so that she had called him by his first name.

She regrouped. "We need to get you in the tub. You smell like s-." She began lifting off his shirt, which he tried to resist. Once she got it off, she saw the scars she had heard about so long ago for the first time. They were fierce. She felt a new pang of guilt for hitting him. He looked like a struck puppy.

Against Lance's protests, she got him all the way undressed, telling him to "Quit being so modest. I'm a mom—I've seen it all before."

She put him in a bath as if he were Lulu, and then helped him into his own bed rather than the couch. He shivered and passed out.

Lance woke up too early considering when he had fallen asleep. His stomach felt like it was home to a queasy brick, and his head was swimming in painful fog. He was confused—he was in his own bed, rather than on the couch. Furthermore, he was naked and Bea was lying on her side at the other edge of the bed. Lulu was sleeping in her crib across the room. _Had they done it_? Lance wondered. _No, no._ _It was something much worse._ The events of last night flooded back to him. He had tried to kiss Bea, and she had slapped him. Then she had undressed him and bathed him like a child. What was wrong with him? Since Daisy left he had been acting out in all sorts of strange ways.

Lance was supremely embarrassed. To make matters worse, he found his body in the typical state of a male who had just awoken, and his nakedness was maximally extenuated. He formulated a plan—he would sneak out as quietly as possible and retrieve his clothes. No one would wake up. It would be fine. He'd apologize to Bea and Lulu by making them breakfast and assure them this wouldn't happen again. He had only been truly drunk one other time in his whole life.

Lance slid out of bed and began to tiptoe, wishing he had something to put in front of him. His pillow! He grabbed it and held it in front of himself.

"You know, you look like a fool. I already saw everything last night when you came home raging drunk and vomiting," an irritated voice said from the bed.

The voice startled Lance so much that he physically jumped and barely held on to the pillow. Lulu woke up and began crying. Lance was torn between holding the pillow and picking up the screaming child.

Bea looked on with vague amusement, unwilling to help. Finally, exasperated and annoyed at Bea, he dropped the pillow and lifted the sobbing Lulu into his arms.

"It's ok, little one. Shhhh…" he rocked her and kissed her head.

Bea's own ire at Lance slightly abated at the sight of him comforting her child as tenderly as if she were his own. Not to mention, Lance looked damn hot naked. Bea got out of bed, still wearing Lance's old t-shirt and took Lulu from him, who quickly departed to find clothes.

"Mama's here, Sweet Pea. Mama's here," Bea said to Lulu.

Making an apology breakfast seemed out of the question now. Everyone was up and the tension was already palpable between Lance and Bea. So Lance showered after a few dry heaves from nausea. Guilt over his bad behavior made him realize that he couldn't continue on this way. He needed to snap out of his depression or get help. He was behaving like a child. Since when did he self medicate with alcohol?

He had an overwhelming desire to clean up every inch of his appearance and make this the first day of the rest of his life, so he shaved and even clipped his curls short. He emerged from the bathroom looking very clean cut indeed (though his stomach and head were still in revolt), wearing a white button up shirt with thin blue pinstripes and gray dress pants. He needed to go to the Jeffersonian for a few hours to fulfill his promise to Cam to work harder, and he was eager for an escape from whatever confrontation he was about to have with Bea. He knew from experience, it was inevitable. Bea was volatile, and he had royally screwed up.

For his part, he was very hurt that she had hit him and was already making space for a kind of distance between them. He was very protective of himself when it came to physical violence—in the past, it had been a matter of life and death. He had never forgotten what is was like to be a scared child being whipped like a ragdoll, and he never would.

Bea was holding a cup of coffee and helping Lulu eat breakfast at her highchair.

"So, he emerges victorious from the bathroom," she said, a little snide.

Lance said, "Bea, give me a break. I'm really sorry about last night. This is only the second time in my life I've ever been drunk. It won't happen again. I promise."

Bea said, "We appreciate everything you've done for us. But today we're going to look for an apartment. We've imposed on you too long, and I need to make sure Lulu's in a safe place."

Lance was dumbfounded. "Safe? What you think I'm not safe? I'm harmless! I would never hurt anyone!"

Bea knew this was true, and yet something about last night made her so hurt, she just wanted an excuse to leave. She knew she was being too harsh, and Lance looked so handsome standing there, but she just couldn't stop herself. Maybe she was fleeing the possibility that they would get together. Whatever it was, she kept on her warpath.

"Be that as it may, I just need her to be in a mature, predictable environment. You're young—you should be able to go out on a Saturday and party if you want to."

"I don't want to Bea. I want to be responsible. I've…I've done everything I could to make this apartment hospitable for you two. It's just last night I was feeling so down. I shouldn't have gone out. I made a mistake. I'm a human being. I just made a mistake. Don't leave." Lance felt like they were breaking up, and they had never been together. His heart was being wrenched from him.

Bea sighed. "We can't work as a couple, Lance." Again she said his first name. It startled him, and he physically jumped. Her tone had melted into softness. "You're too young, I'm too…I'm a parent for God's sake. You deserve to start new with someone how hasn't already messed up their whole life!"

"So this is about the kiss? Look, I'm sorry, Bea. You're beautiful, and…what can I say, I love you and your child. But we can remain just friends. I was drunk and presumptuous. I don't expect anything from you." He put his hand on his face where she had slapped him. "You didn't have to hit me."

Bea got up, as Lulu pounded her spoon in her oatmeal and blueberries. Orts went flying into Lulu's hair. Bea crossed over to Lance and put her arms on his shoulders, holding him at arms length, and looked into his eyes.

"I'm so sorry I slapped you. It was a reflex. I come from an abusive home too, you know. I promise I'll never lay a hand on you in anger again."

Lance nodded and was starting to feel teary. Damn him, he was so emotional. He hated it. Sometimes he just wished he could be some other way…some other person.

"Sweets, it's time for us to move out. We've imposed on your kindness enough. Let us go, ok?"

Lance nodded silently again, because opening his mouth might trigger real tears. Instead he headed for the door and off to the Jeffersonian. He choked back tears all the way there.


	18. Chapter 18

_FLUFF. I am on a rampage to post, because this story is taking up far too much of my time and brainpower. My husband thinks I'm crazy. We are almost there—four chapters left after this one. And they are already in draft form. My work here is almost done!_

_RT, I dedicate this bit of joyous fluff to you, because you need a little extra cheer in your life! *hugs*_

_Lanie, you are too kind. Will you be my life coach? Don't worry, Sweets will be ok. He's made of strong stuff, despite feeling things deeply. Here's some fluff to help you recover._

_Disclaimer: not mine._

_

* * *

_

True to her word, Bea and Lulu moved out a week after Lance's transgression. Lance missed them almost immediately, but it was nice to sleep in his own bed and keep a tidy apartment again. Knox, for his part, seemed thrilled. He had never liked the noisy child and her bossy mother.

For the entire months of February and March, Lance only saw Bea when he was working at the Jeff, and even then she seemed to avoid him. Whenever he entered her office to check on her, she set about busily typing and asked him to return later. He wondered if their friendship would recover. He could only hope that based on past experiences when he had messed up with true friends, they had eventually forgiven him. For example, when he had failed to inform Dr. Brennan of the fact that Booth wasn't really dead after he had been shot, she had initially been so livid that he thought the connection they had forged was forever demolished. Yet they had recovered.

Lance realized that he had dwelt upon Daisy too long, and began to get his act together at last. The episode that drove Bea out had served as a wake up call to both Lance and Bea. He hadn't ended up going to a new psychiatrist, but he had gotten his depression under tighter reign. It was slowly releasing him from its stony grasp. He had hope again and was able to re-assume his customary cheery veneer at work.

For instance, today Lance was at the Jeffersonian on the platform with Cam and Wendell. The remains of a former Olympic swimmer were splayed before them, mangled and sickening. The onlookers, however, were accustomed to this level of gore and conversed as normally as if a roasted chicken sat on the table.

"Woah, this is SO totally cool. Do you remember this guy? His butterfly was like…aw man, it was awesome!" Lance was in utter fanboy mode and lifted his arms into a few giant butterfly strokes. His wingspan was formidable as a man of fairly tall stature, and Cam and Wendell had to duck.

Wendell was grinning—he liked Sweets' enthusiasm. He was a pretty hardcore sports fan himself. "Do you swim, man?" Wendell asked, laughing at Sweets' buoyancy.

"Yeah, I swam the 200 fly in college," Lance said proudly, his chest a little puffed.

"Woah. That's pretty hard core!" Wendell stuck out his bottom lip, impressed. "Dude, do you do triathlons, because when Hodgins gets back, the three of us should train together for the summer season!"

"Cool. I did a couple of tris in New York in grad school, but it's been awhile. I gotta get back on my bike, man. My leg has not been the same since I broke it last summer."

Cam rolled her eyes. This was going to go on and on until she put the kibosh on it. "Um, that's great, Dr. Sweets. Can we focus on the matter at hand? I thought these scars on the vic's legs were strange, like perhaps he cut himself? Like with a razor?"

"You mean, you think he was a cutter?" Wendell asked with concern. He was genuinely a good guy and the details of the murder cases, which revealed the underbellies of human experience, often seemed to touch him.

Lance peered at the vic's skin, his nose dangerously close to making contact. "Naw, I doubt it. I think these were shaving cuts."

"But they're on his thighs!" Cam declared confused.

"Yeah, but swimmers shave their legs and arms for races…of course, now they have those awesome full body Speedos!" Lance zipped his hand through the air to demonstrate such a well-adorned swimmer. "I probably could have shaved at least a second off my best time with one of those!" Fanboy Lance was not the most focused murder investigator.

"What was your best time, man?" Wendell asked, but Cam interrupted him abruptly.

"That's enough, boys. Go to the gym together or something! Now clear off, Sweets, we're done with you!"

Lance pouted but departed. He was heading for the door when he stopped in front of Angela's/Bea's office. He hesitated for a long moment, trying to decide if he should attempt to talk to her. She really didn't seem interested in patching things up. He, on the other hand, found himself frequently and sometimes inappropriately obsessing over the petite Asian woman with the tattoos. He couldn't blame himself-he had slept naked in his bed with her.

But then he heard, "Sweets? Come in here." It was Bea's voice, and Lance was surprised at the mixture of feelings it stirred in him all at once: joy, comfort, arousal. Feelings of new love, to be exact.

He went in promptly and sat on Angela's couch. He slung up his feet on a table, regarding his friend at her filthy desk, trying to seem as casual as possible.

"How's it shaking, Bea?" he asked with thinly veiled delight. His heart thumped.

"Boy, someone's in a good mood!" she laughed.

"I just…" he swung his legs down and leaned forward. "I missed you. Are you still angry with me? Because…"

"No, Sweets. I'm not mad. I just needed time to get my life together again. Didn't you? You seem to be doing much better. Moving out was the right decision for all of us."

"Yeah, maybe. But…I'd really like to see Lulu again. Does she ask about me?"

"Yes, she does. Let's have breakfast this Saturday at the diner, ok? She'll be delighted to see you, and if you're lucky, maybe she'll baptize your crotch in ketchup like old times."

"I like your haircut, Bea. Short looks nice on you!" Bea was rocking a very short spiky cut. It was a shocking transition from her long, luxurious locks of yore, but it made her look scary hot. Like she was going to maul you, Lance thought. He'd like to be mauled by her. Damn.

"I donated my hair, wise ass. It was time for a change."

"I was not being a wise ass. You look beautiful! You always look beautiful," Lance said, flirting shamelessly now.

"Hey Sweets. You wanna get together before Saturday?" she asked abruptly.

"Like…like how get together?" Lance lifted an eyebrow, daring to hope she meant a date.

Bea responded coyly, "Like I put on a dress. You find something in between those suits you always wear and your 16 year-old attire. We go someplace where people, you know, _go out_."

"You mean a date!" Lance exclaimed bursting with joy. He blushed a little, because he knew he was being pathetic.

"I guess," Bea smirked.

"If you can get a babysitter for tomorrow, I'll pick you up at 7 at your new place."

"Ok, but pick me up here. I've got a pile of s- to do this week, and it ain't gonna do itself." She peaced out to him silently, so he took his cue.

Lance sprung up from his seat and literally skipped off. Bea shook her head in disgust and amusement. But she was pleased. This was possibly the most enthusiastic suitor she'd ever had.

What had changed for her to ask Sweets out? she wondered to herself. She enumerated the reasons she could think of in her head, which she always did when she was puzzled by her own spontaneous behavior. She was simply a numbers person. _One_, she thought, _I'm not as God-damned strong willed as I like to pretend. Two, he's quite possibly the most adorable person I've ever laid eyes upon and obviously smitten with me. Three, I've seen him naked, and I approve._ She physically smiled at that one. _Four, I miss __intellectually__ stimulating adult company. Five, Lulu loves that man. Can I blame her? I love him too, but in what way exactly_…_?_ She sighed. She hoped she wasn't making the wrong decision. She made a mental note to take things as slowly as humanly possible without driving Sweets crazy. She had the feeling it wouldn't last anyway.

* * *

When Lance got back to his office at Georgetown, a fantastic surprise awaited him that made his excellent mood soar even higher. Booth had emailed him—he was coming home in three weeks, a little earlier than planned. Hodgins, Angela, Brennan, and well…Daisy (unfortunately) would be back 3 weeks after that. He wouldn't worry about that now. He was secretly glad to get some time alone with Booth before everyone returned. He wanted to discuss a few things with his friend, and let's face it, practically father figure. He didn't consciously realize until the moment he learned Booth was coming home that he had practically been holding his breath over his friend's safety for the past 11 months. Booth was a warrior at heart—a hero—and it had secretly petrified Lance that Booth might put himself at risk while in Afghanistan. Hell, one didn't even need to try to get hurt there—innocent men, women, and children were killed almost every day in suicide car bombings. Lance had become a compulsive checker of the _Washington Post_ and NPR for news of attacks in the troubled country. When Booth was back, maybe Lance could finally relax again.


	19. Chapter 19

_I'll probably just go ahead and put up the final four today and tomorrow to get this fic out of my hair. I'm not known for my patience, and as long as they exist unpublished I will keep wasting time tweaking them._

_**Lanie**, thanks for the comments! I had a friend who was in Afghanistan for a year (and my bro-in-law was in Bagdad for a tour), so I have felt the stress of what Sweets was dealing with when Booth was in danger. I certainly was not going to kill off Booth in my fictional world! ;) As for Daisy, well…you'll see. It's not going to be easy, but Lance is much more centered than when she first left. Have a great trip, btw-happy flight! I suspect the entire story will be waiting for you when you check in again!  
_

_**RT**, you're going to be slightly but not utterly disappointed by the final turn this story takes. ;) Um and apparently you can read the future when it comes to Bea. You'll see what I mean when you read this very chapter and the next! Get out of my head, girl!_

_Disclaimer: Sweets and company are not mine._

_

* * *

_

Lance could not believe he had a date with Bea. He had been waiting for so long for this moment that he felt incredibly nervous, even though he could probably count Bea among his closest friends. What drove him crazy was that somehow he had a nagging feeling that he had already blown their chance at happiness together before they even went out. It wasn't about the night he had gotten drunk…it was something he couldn't put his finger on.

Bea had given him very specific instructions on what to wear, so he was doing his best to impress her. He selected a dark blue button down and rolled the sleeves up a little, which he paired with modern, gray dress pants. He was attempting to tame his wild curls with some gel and feeling pretty damn pleased with the way his look was turning out, when his iPhone buzzed.

"Dang it! Where are you, stupid phone!" he berated the phone. He finally realized that the cat was vibrating and forced Knox off it, who slunk away in defeat. Knox was always plopping down on warm electronic devices (such as Lance's laptop), and Lance's phone had grown hot from charging.

"Hello? This is Lance Sweets." Lance hadn't checked the number to see if he recognized it.

"Lance? It's Daisy."

He actually dropped the phone and then had to pick it back up. "Uh, sorry, Daisy? What…how are you? Everything ok?" Daisy and Lance hadn't spoken since he had been attacked last summer and called her from the hospital. They hadn't even so much as exchanged an email or a letter. Lance had wanted to write her many times, but as he hadn't heard from her, he deemed it inappropriately desperate.

"I'm…ok," she responded weakly. Now that he thought about it, Daisy was crying. This puzzled him.

"Dais? What's wrong? You can tell me." Lance hated himself, but hearing her whimpering through the phone made him melt and yearn to hold her.

"I've, I've had a hard couple of months, Lance." She was trying to regain her composure.

Lance waited.

"I was dating this anthropologist on our team—a local. It was just for fun really, but…"

Lance was already growing angry at this unidentified man. "What? Did he hurt you?" His voice was shaking a little.

"Well, I liked him at first because in contrast to you, he seemed a bit dangerous. He rides motorcycles, smokes, is very muscular..."

Lance winced. It hurt that she still conceived of him as unadventurous and what now, flabby? He wanted to tell her right then and there how he had been so bold as to fly down to Florida to visit his bio mom, but then she followed up, "I don't know, he kind of forced himself on me last night. I just…"

"You mean he raped you!" Lance demanded, now thoroughly enraged. His cheeks were hot and his heart was pounding. He wanted to rip apart any man who could lay a hand on the tiny woman he had once called his fiancée. His body ached to be close to her.

"No, no. I dunno. I just didn't feel like doing it, but he's so demanding and then…he just pushed himself on me. It's ok. I'm fine. I just want to get away from him. I don't want to be with him anymore."

"Daisy…" Lance sighed. He had been hovering over his coffee table and sat down on it, putting his head in his hands. He ran his fingers through his freshly styled hair. He couldn't believe this was happening, and he was so many thousands of miles away. "How did you let things get to this point? I thought you'd been doing so much better when it came to being strong in your sense of self."

Because Daisy exuded confidence, many people did not realize that her supposed arrogance was part of a carefully constructed exterior that masked painful past problems with body image and social confidence. While Daisy was quite secure in her intellectual abilities and now even her physical appearance, she had once been a bulimic for 7 years. Lance immediately thought that she was having a relapse—if she was not forcing herself to vomit again, then at least her self worth had plummeted.

"I'm not…hurting myself again, Lance. I just…"

"You just let someone else hurt you," he said angrily. "Daisy, you need to tell someone who can protect you what happened. Like Dr. Brennan. Tell people who can keep him away from you. And don't stay alone for a while, ok?" Lance didn't know how dire the situation was and frankly was frightened for Daisy's safety. There was nothing he could do to protect her.

"Ok…but you don't have to worry. He won't come after me, I'm pretty sure. He's never been faithful to me, and he's been ogling this other woman for a while."

Lance shook his head though he knew Daisy couldn't see it. "Daisy, what the hell are you doing to yourself over there? Don't you think you deserve better than this?"

"I've...I've really missed you," her voice quavered.

Lance sat in silence, remaining strong.

"I'll be home soon. Do you think maybe…?" Daisy trailed off.

Lance was not about to go there. "Daisy, I have to go." He wanted to add, _I have a date_, but didn't have the heart.

* * *

A very conflicted Lance set off for the Jeffersonian to see Bea. He didn't even know if he was looking forward to their date anymore. He got into in his old beat-up car, willed to him by his parents, and cranked up the radio.

"And he still gives his love, he just gives it away,  
The love he receives is the love that is saved.  
And sometimes is seen a strange spot in the sky,  
A human being that was given to fly," sang vintage Eddie Vedder. 1

Lance sang along in a booming tenor and then thought, _You're at a crosswords, my friend. What are you going to do?_

Fifteen minutes later Lance entered the Jeffersonian, which was almost eerie at night if one thought too much about the numerous bones it housed.

"Bea?" Lance called when he saw her office was empty.

She emerged from a bathroom. Her hair was elegantly spiked, and she was wearing an antique yellow silk v-neck dress that was tight and reached to just above her knees. Her cherry-blossom tattoo sleeve looked luminous against her tan skin. Her lips were red and plump—she had even put on mascara, extenuating her thick black lashes. Lance's jaw dropped open.

Bea herself was thinking, damn. He outdid himself.

It was fun to spend an even together, eating Moroccan food, laughing about Lulu's latest shenanigans, and drinking wine. The two had become really good friends and hanging out was easy but again something was missing. Both felt it. Throughout Lance's relationship with Daisy he felt consumed by desire and adoration for her. They were both such passionate people that their fervor for each other had just made sense. Lance was also nagged by the feeling that Daisy had been a real and attainable lover. Bea felt somehow just beyond his reach. He wanted Bea, no doubt, but as he thought about it, wanting Bea felt rather like wanting Angela had once.

At the end of the night Lance dropped her off at her apartment and said almost nervously, "That was fun. We should do it again."

Bea was already practically closing the door on him. He reached over to kiss her and she turned her cheek to meet his lips.

"Night, Sweets. Sweet dreams." She flashed her pearly teeth, which shone in the moonlight. Lance was a little sorrowful that he wasn't going to get any tonight. He hadn't really expected it, but now walking away into the night he found he was disappointed, dejected, and frankly, horny.

Later that night he almost couldn't decide which woman to fantasize about…almost.

* * *

1. "Given to Fly," Pearl Jam, _Yield_, February 3, 1998, /song/given-fly. Yes, Pearl Jam is vintage to Sweets, since sadly he was 13 when that song came out. Yikes. And yes, I footnote everything like a proper historian! ;)


	20. Chapter 20

_Ok, mendenbar, just breathe for a moment. Lance is 25 and like all people (or at least me when I was 25) he's going to need time to figure out exactly who he is and what he wants. But rest assured, this is my story and Lance is going to end exactly in the place I want him too. Remember, I have nothing but love to shower upon Sweets, and I want everything to work out for him too!_ ;)

_RT, thanks for your comments! Every time you say something I write is "just like Sweets" it makes me beam. Almost there!_

_Hang in there readers. I know everyone is nervous about Daisy's return.  
_

* * *

Bea and Lance went on a few more dates over the next three weeks before Booth was due back home. None of them seemed very successful to Lance, who had barely gotten Bea to kiss him. One night they were watching a movie at Bea's while Lulu slept, and Lance decided to try for something a little steamier.

Bea was tucked under his arm on the couch, the bright colors of the Swedish film "Let the Right One In" reflected on them in the semi-dark. While she had been enjoying spending time with Lance, it was already clear to her that she just wanted to be comforted by someone she loved at this point. She thoroughly adored Lance, and though he was very attractive, she found that after almost two years without sex, she just couldn't bring herself to get entangled in physical intimacy with him. She was game to cuddle though.

Lance leaned down and kissed her with what Bea knew well were very scrumptious lips. She did her best to resist them, though she sensed Lance was going for tongue action. She let him a little, poor guy. Now she feared she was just toying with him. It felt good to melt into him a bit though. She closed her eyes and gave into the wonderful feeling of being safe and cared for.

Lance reached down to touch her breast; he was growing aroused. He suddenly realized that Bea was not only no longer moving into him, but she wasn't even kissing him back. She had fallen asleep. He felt like a fool and sank back into the couch. He had wanted kids so badly with Daisy, but if this was what it was like to try to make out with a mom, maybe he wasn't ready for it.

He tried to watch the movie again to distract himself for a while, but eventually he carried Bea to bed and drove home.

* * *

Lance was sprinting over to the Royal Diner to see none other than his friend Booth, fresh back from Afghanistan. Lance felt like his heart was going to burst, he was so excited. He flung open the door and almost broke the little bell that alerted the staff to customers. There was Booth, beefy as ever, sitting at their old table, beaming a bit himself.

Lance walked over, and Booth got up. Their arms became momentarily entangled as Lance tried for a half hug and Booth attempted to simultaneously sock his arm and shake his hand. As awkward as it was, it was clear that both men were very happy to see each other again.

"It's great to see you!" Lance couldn't restrain himself from exclaiming. "How was Afghanistan?"

"Oh it was fine, Sweets. I helped some kids train up for combat. They look so young to me now. Hopefully they won't get themselves killed."

"Was it worth going?" Sweets asked, raising an eyebrow. He was very curious about how Booth had been coping with the lack of Parker and Brennan in his life.

"Well, it was hard to be away from Parker and…yeah, it was worth it. You know, it's rewarding to serve in that way. I liked teaching quite a bit. What about you, how are you liking teaching?"

"It's great! The semester's almost over—it's flown by. I miss working on cases with you though. I'm glad you're back. Things at the Jeffersonian have been slow." Lance had so many questions for Booth, but he didn't want to overwhelm his friend. Booth did not respond well to intense outpourings of emotion. "I…I've been kind of seeing someone new at the Jeffersonian."

"Oh yeah? Pie, please," Booth asked the waitress who had arrived to take their order. Lance was secretly very pleased that all was normal in the world with Booth when pie was involved. Lance had what Booth was having.

"Yeah, she's a single mom though. I'm not sure it's working out," Lance finished when the waitress had left.

"SWEETS. You do not want to get involved in that! Take it from me. You can't go getting in the baby mama drama!"

"But you have a kid," Lance whined.

"Yeah? You shouldn't date me either. Seriously, Sweets, take it from me. I'm glad you're moving on from Daisy, but not with a mother. Ok? Why don't we set you up with one of Padme's friends?"

"You mean Jared's fiancée?" Lance was quizzical. Booth had never tried to set him up before. Was his involvement with Bea that disconcerting to him?

Lance tried a new topic. "So, Dr. Brennan's coming back in a few weeks. How are you doing with all of that?"

Booth glowered at Lance momentarily. "I can see you haven't changed, Sweets."

Lance was a little hurt, but understood that this comment came from Booth's own insecurity. In fact, Lance felt that he had matured quite significantly in the past year, contrary to Booth's statement.

Lance said, "Well, I know things were a bit tense with you two before you parted. Caroline insisted that you'd never work together again! You know, I'm not at the FBI anymore to provide therapy, but I'm always here to talk—"

"Sweets!" Booth interrupted. "Give it a rest, ok? I don't know what's going to happen when Bones gets home. I missed her, sure. You think I'm not conflicted? You think I'm not sc—" Booth cut himself off this time.

"Scared?" Lance filled in.

"Look, can we just enjoy our pie?"

"Of course. It's really good to see you again, Booth," Lance said one more time just in case Booth had forgotten.

Booth smiled and shook his head.

* * *

It seemed Booth was only back for a heartbeat before the big day was upon Lance. Everyone was back in town and a small celebration was arranged for the Founding Fathers that night. Booth had told Sweets that he was meeting up with Brennan at their pre-arranged coffee cart on the mall earlier that day. Lance was dying to know what had happened. He secretly hoped that Brennan had finally admitted to herself that she couldn't live without Booth and that they had kissed. That seemed unlikely, but it was a bright and sunny out—a good day for optimism. While storm clouds were beginning to gather in the west, for the moment they appeared puffy and harmless, like dirty cotton.

Lance was so nervous about seeing Daisy that he was physically sick to his stomach all day. He hadn't eaten any dinner and when he got to the bar at 8pm, he was afraid he'd be drunk off his first sip of alcohol. He went to the bar and ordered a Corona, which seemed as harmless a drink as possible, and then spotted his friends.

Angela was bedazzling in a bright blue frock; she had her arm slung through Hodgins' and both looked relaxed and happy. Lance took note of Angela's swollen belly with shock.

He went over and put an arm around each, and they hugged him back exclaiming "Sweets!" and "We missed you!"

Lance responded, "It seems congratulations are in order?" He gestured toward Angela's stomach.

"You're lucky that isn't just the result of one too many baguettes, Sweets!" Hodgins mocked.

"Thanks, Sweets! I'm about 5 months along!" Angela followed up, beaming.

"Wow," Lance said. Part of him had expected everything to return to normal when the team reunited, but he realized nothing would ever be the same. He certainly was not the same man they had left.

Dr. Brennan said, "Sweets, you look older." Everyone agreed. He felt like their collective child for a moment as they all surveyed his appearance, which was not unpleasant. He shook Dr. Brennan's hand heartily, though he wanted to hug her.

"Dr. Brennan! It's great to see you again in person!" With that Dr. Brennan actually pulled Lance into a brief hug. He couldn't believe his good fortune. Booth was smiling at them from across the table.

"That's a pretty wimpy celebratory libation, Sweets!" Booth said pointing at Lance's beer. Everyone else was drinking tequila, save Angela.

"Err…I didn't have much to eat." _Come to think of it, where was Daisy?_ he wondered. A few of the other interns were there—Vincent and Wendell—making merry. Then she appeared from the restroom. She was petite and perky as ever, but she was wearing her hair differently. It was down and wavy, very pretty.

"Lance!" she said and threw her arms around him. It felt so good to hug her that he kissed her cheek. He reddened. He was not sure how to proceed. But his friends took care of that, raising a glass to being reunited.

After an hour of revelry, Daisy neared Lance.

"Lance, can I talk to you alone outside?" she asked hopefully. She had pinned him away from the group, and there was no escape but to answer.

"Uh, sure," he said with reluctance.

The pair exited the Founding Fathers into the thunderstorm outside.


	21. Chapter 21

_Here they are back to back-the final two-since the last chapter is quite short. Thanks again to my lovely, faithful followers. Your reviews have been so kind and encouraging. Please put down all sharp objects before reading this chapter *runs away*. Bear in mind, there is one more chapter!  
_

_RT, your love of Booth/Sweets scenes delights me. You are such a fan of those two boys! ;)  
_

_Disclaimer: Not mine._

* * *

It was pouring outside, but the two ran under Lance's giant umbrella to the stoop of an apartment complex across the street. As they sat on the top step, rain cascaded all around them. Bright flower pots contrasted with the gray night and made for a pretty picture, if a sad duo.

Daisy said, "Did you miss me, Lancelot? I missed you!"

Lance, in near disbelief that she chose to begin the conversation thusly after their recent phone conversation, answered, "Yeah. Of course I did. But you moved on. I moved on. Right?"

"You're dating that _Asian_ woman?" she pronounced the word Asian as if she were saying pustule. Lance was surprised, but he knew that Daisy had stopped by the Jeffersonian earlier. Cam had probably said something to Daisy. She had probably told Daisy to back off, actually.

"Um, I guess. We've been kind of seeing each other for a month or so. I dunno. It's complicated." Lance didn't feel like justifying his strange relationship with Bea to his ex-fiancée. It just made him feel like he was a failure at relationships.

"Have you two had sex?" Daisy asked directly.

God, she was blunt. "No, not yet." Lance wondered how much Daisy had changed in the past year. She seemed more subdued and more introspective but with the same impulsive behaviors.

"Well then, it must not be love. Remember, we had sex on the first date! We couldn't control ourselves. You said you'd never done that before!" Daisy was growing flushed with hope.

Lance became irritated. "Well, I hadn't, and I won't do something like that again. It was irresponsible. Look where it ended!" He was actually bitter. He hadn't expressed any of these feelings to Daisy when she had left. They poured out now. He folded his arms in hostility and looked away.

"Lance, do you still love me?" Daisy asked quietly.

"Don't ask me that, Daisy. It's not fair."

She moved closer to him and put her hand under his coat onto his stomach, which became taut. She moved in very close and whispered, "I still love you. So much." Her lips approached his and connected with electricity. He kissed her back. It felt so good. She began sliding her hands up and down his abdomen and near his belt. He was aroused and cursed his body for responding so immediately to this woman he had hoped to reject.

"Lance, I can tell you want me. You never could hide it with me."

Presumptuous. Unfair. Yet he moved his body against hers and held on for dear life.

* * *

Now that Daisy was back she needed help moving her stuff out of storage and into her new studio apartment. It was a 3rd floor walk up, and she required manpower. It was the day after Lance and Daisy's intimate conversation on the stoop. He had extracted himself after their kiss and hoped to avoid her as much as possible to clear his head. The only problem was, he needed to be at the Jeffersonian to brief the team on a number of open cases.

At the Jeff, it just so happened that Dr. Brennan had requested the presence of every intern to catalogue the bones she had missed in the past year. Therefore there were plenty of people to enlist for Daisy's big move. She zoomed around the Jeffersonian locating suckers.

Lance was at Hodgins' station chatting benignly with the bug doctor, Wendell, and Arastoo. None of them were even pretending to work. Cam kept sending them withering stares from the platform where she was peering at a gelatinous mass of human along with Dr. Brennan (who was oblivious to the malingering male convention).

Daisy sprang up to the boys. "Hey guys! I need some help moving in this Saturday! Anyone available? I'll buy beer!" she sounded like she was offering them a winning lottery ticket rather than an onerous task.

Each man shifted uncomfortably and mumbled, trying to avert his eyes. Lance was most evasive and physically hid behind Hodgins.

Hodgins, who had license to be a misanthrope, stated bluntly, "No way. I only move in lovers and blood relatives. No exceptions. Sweets, quit hiding behind me and man up!" he spat at the cowering psychologist.

"Lance? Are you free? I could really use the help!" Daisy literally batted her eyelashes, which made Hodgins roll his eyes and furiously push aside to return to peering into his microscope.

Lance looked sheepishly at his ex-girlfriend and assented, "Sure, Daisy. I can help." He was weak at drawing boundaries, particularly when it came to this particular petite fireball.

Wendell and Arastoo looked at each other and shook their heads, annoyed that Lance had caved. From pure solidarity they also agreed to help for a few hours.

"Great! Thanks guys!" She flitted her eyes one more time at Lance, who was looking at his shoes and then bounded off.

"Aw man, why'd you agree to that!" Hodgins boomed.

"Yeah, man. I'm sorry, but you're going to have to draw the line unless you want to get sucked back into her orbit!" Wendell added.

"She definitely has you in her tractor beam. Danger, man. Danger!" Arastoo continued the tiresome metaphor.

Lance was annoyed because there was truth to their words, and he said, "It'll be fine. She's small—she can't lift her furniture by herself. I'd do it for any friend."

"Yeah, but she isn't your friend, dude. She's your _ex_," Hodgins huffed.

Lance shrugged and wandered off. They were right, but he couldn't help himself. He was finding Daisy as irresistible as ever, though he had worked for a year to move on. He would have to remain strong and figure out what _he_ wanted from her, not the other way around. He had to find a way to better dictate their interactions.

What would Bea think if she knew he were going to help Daisy? _What does Bea think of me?_ he wondered. Whatever relationship they had was confusing as hell. Though Lance found himself in a dilemma yet again, he finally believed in his ability to sort it all out…eventually.

* * *

Moving Daisy went on for hours. Long after Wendell and Arastoo had run for their lives, Lance was carrying up Daisy's boxes of books. Lance thought he had a lot of books, but this little lady made his collection look puny. Lance tended to read a book and then move on, perhaps even giving it away; Daisy read and re-read. It was a product of her speed reading that she didn't always retain the content for very long but revisited it over and over.

Lance set down the last box and collapsed on Daisy's couch. He groaned in pain. His stomach muscles and shoulders hurt.

"Beer, Lance?" Daisy offered.

Lance mumbled a "sure," and she appeared with a Magic Hat. He sat up and took a swig.

"Thanks for your help! Your shoulders hurt?" she eyed him in his white t-shirt with interest.

"Mm-hm," he responded with another groan.

Before he could stop her, she had pulled him around and began massaging. It was blissful. Daisy had always had very strong fingers, and she dug into his sore spots like a professional. Lance closed his eyes and succumbed to the delicious pain.

Soon Daisy was venturing beyond Lance's shoulders and touching his chest. She embraced him and he leaned back into her. They fit like puzzle pieces.

"Lance?"

His eyes were still closed.

"I'm really sorry that I didn't realize what a great thing we had. I thought my career was more important…and frankly, I'm glad that I went. I needed to try new things to understand that what I wanted was actually right in front of me." Her words came softly. "I want to be a great anthropologist but more importantly, I want to love you and be with you."

The annoyed part of Lance thought, _That's convenient for her._ After all was said and done she wanted him back. Another part of Lance was too tired to resist and wanted above all else to be loved. This side of Lance won out for now; he would make the real decisions later. She lay him back down on the couch and placed her small body on top of his. She kissed him and moved against him in the exact way he had been longing for all year. Quite simply, she knew just what to do with his body to make him feel wonderful. He wasn't lonely or sad anymore but content.


	22. Chapter 22

_The finale! Part of me is sad, the other part relieved! This story took it out of me. I hope you all find Lance at a place you can live with. I know I threw a wrench at you with Ch. 21. Sorry, but it seemed realistic to me. _

_*hugs* to my readers! Thanks so much for taking the time to share in this world._

* * *

"You went back to her. I knew you would," Bea was saying as she gathered her things from Angela's office. She was moving to the forensics technology department within the Jeffersonian. She would no longer be working directly with Lance and Cam or the team.

"I don't know that I've gone back to her," Lance replied, his brow furrowed. Sure, they had slept together, but he was tremendously conflicted about Daisy. In fact, he didn't perceive sleeping with her as a moment of weakness, but rather his way of trying to figure out what he desired. If Daisy had really changed, did he want her back?

"Well, it's for the best, Lance. I love you, I'm just not in love with you. I know you feel the same way about me. We'll remain friends, I feel sure of it. Lulu needs your friendship too." Bea was resolved.

Lance had to admit the truth when he heard it. "What we had was very intimate—living together for half a year…but you're right. We aren't meant to be a couple."

With box in hand she moved past Lance toward the doorway and paused to kiss his cheek.

"Lance?" whenever she said his first name, he knew something serious was coming. "I'm really proud of you."

_That_ he was not expecting.

"You were able to reach inside yourself and find the strength to conquer your demons. While you had help along the way, ultimately, this time you did it yourself. You've changed…for the better," she added when Lance looked slightly distressed.

He thought for a moment and said, "I guess I have." As he watched her retreating figure he felt a new emotion: comfort in his own skin. Sure he was always going to be a little deviant from the norm, a bit of a misfit, but he had reached a place where he was the anchor in his own universe. He was a good professor, a good friend, a strong person. He thought about Daisy—_I don't have to figure this out right now. Maybe we can start something new and healthy. Maybe we can't. I don't need her to be me._

_

* * *

_

Lance, Wendell, and Hodgins did decide to train for a triathlon together. A month after the return of the team, they attempted a sprint-length tri as a warm up to see what they were made of.

Lance had seen Daisy a few times over the past few weeks. They had just been talking and getting to know each other for who they had become. He wasn't worried about her, for once. He was focused on being healthy without a partner. Furthermore, he was flush with friends and family again.

As the men began the triathlon in the lake, Lance's arms were gliding elegantly through the water. An excellent swimmer, he was leaving most of his competitors in his wake. He knew that he would fall behind a bit on the upcoming bike portion (his weak point), but he'd come out well enough on the run. All in all, he'd have a good race—he could feel it. He was strong, determined, and serene. He lifted his face sideways out of the water to draw an enormous breath and caught sight of the dazzling light reflecting off the water. It looked like a weaver had laced the brilliant blue with gold.


End file.
